


The Rain is Full of Ghosts of Tonight

by NyxEtoile



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>A relationship isn't one moment, but a series of decisions and conversations. Until three people who started out as individuals can, together, make something much more.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Sharon, Steve, and Bucky OT3, from Sharon's POV.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at a Sharon/Steve/Bucky OT3 story. I wanted to explore what a functioning, hopefully healthy polyamorous relationship would look like between the three of them. Starts slow, but it earns its E rating by the end.
> 
> Will post every Wednesday.
> 
> Title is from the Edna St. Vincent Millay poem, "What lips my lips had kissed, and where, and why"
> 
> _What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,_   
>  _I have forgotten, and what arms have lain_   
>  _Under my head till morning; but the rain_   
>  _Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh_   
>  _Upon the glass and listen for reply,_

_May, 2015_

Sharon Carter watched, with the rest of the world, as the Hulk and Iron Man tore up a Wakandan city. Two goliaths with little concern for the destruction around them. And even as she watched, part of her was wondering where the rest of them were. What had upset Hulk that badly? And why was Stark fighting him alone?

When the fight was over, all anyone could do was speculate. Sharon had to remind herself she was no longer part of that world. She went to work, she bought groceries, she slept. She tried not to worry. And then her phone rang, with a number she didn’t recognize, but somehow knew exactly who was going to be on the other end.

“Want to come save the world?” Maria Hill asked, without even saying hello.

And because the CIA was not what she’d thought it would be and because she still missed her work with SHIELD and because, hey, she lived on the world, didn’t she, Sharon sent her boss and email and went to save the world. On a secret helicarrier Fury - who was alive, of course, how could she have thought otherwise - had in his back pocket for a rainy day.

She wasn’t on the bridge when they pulled up to the floating island that was now Sokovia. She was down in the hold, coordinating the life boats and streamlining the refugee process. But she saw it out the window, impossible and real at the same time, and she knew she wasn’t going back to the CIA when this was all over.

Hours passed in a blur of faces and bodies and emergencies to be handled and people to shuffle around. Information from the bridge was spotty. She knew when the Avengers came on board - even helped Hawkeye limp off the boat he came in on, though she didn’t think he recognized her - and that they were looking for somewhere to accept the refugees. But other than that, nothing.

It was dark and quiet before she left the hold. Every one of the thousands of refugees had a place to sleep, food to eat and their wounds tended. Families had been reunited and she had a mercifully short list of orphans she would need to find homes for. But she was exhausted and weaving on her feet and gave herself permission to take a break.

The galley was empty, picked clean of the fruit, sandwiches and Costco snacks someone had thought to load up with. She found an apple and a granola bar and some lukewarm, bitter coffee. And Steve Rogers found her.

She was sitting at a table near the windows, looking down at the clouds and wondering how she was going to go back to her small apartment and smaller life, when he walked in, apparently also in search of food. He wore his uniform pants and a snug grey undershirt and stopped in his tracks when he saw her.

Silence stretched long enough to be awkward and she realized it was probably up to her to break it. If for no other reason than to get him moving again so he could eat. She was too tired to think of anything but a smile and a very polite, “Captain.”

It got him moving, at least. He returned the nod and went to the food, piling up a tray with enough for three people. Then he seemed to realize how rude it would be to sit somewhere other than with her. Sighing, Sharon shoved the chair across from her out from the table and took an aggressive bite of her apple.

Steve sank into the offered seat with a sigh and she felt a pang of sympathy. If she was exhausted she really didn’t know how he was still upright.

“Hello, Sharon,” he said finally, confirming that someone had filled him in on who she was. “I didn’t know you were working with Hill and Fury.”

His tone was hard to read. She thought perhaps he was aiming for polite inquiry, but was stymied by some underlying awkwardness.

“I’m not,” she said, sipping her coffee before it got any colder. “I work with the CIA. Hill called an all hands on deck and I had sick leave to spare.” She lifted a shoulder.

“Well. We appreciate the rescue.”

She offered a small smile. “Every hero needs back up now and then.” After a pause to weigh her options, she added, “That’s all I was ever supposed to be, you know. Back up. I wasn’t spying on you. I didn’t report on your activities to anyone.”

He looked down at his pile of food, rummaging through it a little, like he was looking for some particular energy bar or piece of fruit. “I was rude and I didn’t have a chance to apologize.”

“You mean before Hydra tried to kill you and you went on the lam and then had to take down a major government agency?”

That earned her the tiniest of smiles. “It was a busy week wasn’t it?”

“Very.” She looked down at her coffee cup. “You don’t owe me an apology. I did lie to you for months. I wish we had met under better circumstances. If it matters, I did. . . like you. I wish I could have had the coffee with you.”

He nodded slowly, then lifted his paper cup of coffee. “Well, here we are.”

She lifted her cup and tapped it against his. “Neighbor.”

They sat there with their coffee and food, talking. It was slow and awkward at first, trying to find safe topics. Her aunt, her new job. But by the time he was reaching the bottom of his pile he was telling her about the fractures in his team, the enhanced boy who had died saving Barton and the Hulk flying off alone. He didn’t speak of himself, though Sharon could hear his stress and exhaustion in every word. He was their leader, their captain. And he took on all those pains and struggles on himself.

When they had cleaned up their trash it was time to leave the galley. Sharon was sure she’d been assigned a bunk at some point, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember it. Hill was surely still up and roaming somewhere, she’d be able to tell her. Sleep sounded heavenly right then.

She found herself walking Steve to his quarters, for lack of anything else to do. It was on the way to the bridge, more or less, and she was enjoying his company. Even through the stress and exhaustion there were glimmers of the funny, kind, almost charming man she had lived across from for the better part of a year.

The reached his quarters and she turned to him, prepared to say goodnight. Instead, he kissed her, one hand cupping the back of her head. There was no hesitation, no gentle coaxing or persuasion. There was heat, and urgent, almost desperate need. As if he expected her to pull away and slap him at any moment. Which was what she should probably do.

Except she didn’t want to. She liked him, on a variety of different levels. Maybe it was a terrible idea. Maybe she would regret it later. Maybe she was just a warm body when any would do and it had nothing to do with who she was. But she well knew the importance of post-mission cool down. Sometimes peace and calm and a good meal was enough. Sometimes a few laps and some time at the gym to release any left over energy. And sometimes. . . sometimes you needed to fuck someone.

So she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and opening her mouth to his. He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into hers, and opened his door, dragging her inside.

Post-mission-decompression-sex, on the occasions Sharon had had the opportunity to engage in it, was usually fast and rough and intense. It was a crap shoot if she actually got off properly, depending on if the guy was blowing off steam, too. She sort of resigned herself to just enjoying the ride for its own sake and not expect fireworks.

She could not have been more wrong.

Steve’s hands were big and rough and far more experienced than she would have predicted. He peeled her out of her tac gear in seconds, exploring the exposed skin with those big hands, then his mouth. The bed was feet away, but he didn’t seem to have the patience to reach it, pinning her to the door and dropping to his knees in front of her. He licked a line up each thigh, nipping the tender skin hard enough to make her jump. His hands slid up the back of her legs and he cupped her ass, bringing his mouth to her sex to give her a long, slow lick.

Before she took the assignment to watch him, she had read his file, though parts of it she knew as well as Cinderella or Red Riding Hood. Captain America had featured in as many bedtime stories as the others. Listed among the effects of the serum was increased learning and memory abilities. It had stuck out at her since everyone focused so strongly on the physical changes. But his memory and learning were just as responsible for Captain America’s wartime success as his height and muscles were.

Figuring out exactly how to get her panting and moaning in a matter of seconds had probably not been an intended benefit. He explored her with his tongue, his mouth, learning where she was sensitive and how much pressure and speed to use. Then he zeroed in on her clit and lapped at her, first broad strokes, then with just the tip of his tongue, fast and hard.

She sunk her hands into his hair and gave in. It had been a hell of a day and she needed this almost as much as he did. So she focused on the hot feel of his mouth against her and the tight grip of his hands on her ass and let the climax sweep through her, hot and shuddery. He held her up, stroking her through the rise and arc of it, until she slumped back against the door and he lifted his head, grinning proudly.

He stood and she made him peel off his shirt so he could see him. He didn’t bother with his boots, just unfastened the fly of his uniform pants and shoved them down. They caught halfway down his muscled thighs, but it was enough. His erection, long and thick, jutted out towards her, the head already slick with pre-come. She wanted to touch it, stroke it. Savor it the way he had her. But before she could move he reached for her, lifting her up against the door and thrusting into her roughly.

Now it was fast and intense, though no less pleasurable. He supported her with one arm, using the other one to cup and shape her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard peaks. Still dazed from her orgasm she just held on, enjoying the ride. Then that tormenting hands slid down between them, rough fingers circling her clit. From there is was a short, shuddering climb to her second peak. 

Steve pressed her tight against the door, burying himself deep as he came, spilling heat into her body. She wrapped herself around him, as tight as she could, stroking his back as they caught their breath. After a moment he staggered back, pulling her off the door to collapse onto the bunk.

They slept in the bed, no bigger than a camp cot, tangled up and covered only by a rough army blanket. He was warm and solid and held her close. Certainly not the worst bed she’d ever had. 

Her phone woke her a few hours later, Hill needing her help with negotiating somewhere to drop the refugees. Sharon staggered out of the cot, limbs stiff, legs sore. She dressed quickly, glad he hadn’t torn any of her clothes in his urgency, then paused to kiss him goodbye. He rousted enough to kiss her back and stroke a hand along her hip and thigh. Then she left him.

 She saw him once more, in the hanger as he and the other Avengers boarded a quinjet. The carrier needed to stop various places to deposit refugees and Sharon planned to stay until she could find a commercial flight home. Steve was fully in Cap mode, back in his armor and corralling everyone. He did spot her across the space, gaze locking with hers. She smiled and curled her fingers into a wave. He responded with an almost jaunty salute and she had to duck her head to hid a grin from the agent she was talking to.

When she looked up again, he was climbing on the jet and she felt a faint pang of loss. She didn’t know if there was a proper word for the feeling of losing something you didn’t really have. Whatever it was, she felt it as she went about her duties, listening to the jet take off.

Monday she was back at work, with no one the wiser she’d been moonlighting as a SHIELD agent for a couple of days. She told herself it had been an adventure, an aberration that might, someday, repeat. It didn’t help much, but it was all she had.

*

_July 2015_

Margaret “Peggy” Carter was laid to rest with honors in Arlington on a humid summer day. The funeral was attended by family, friends, half her nursing home staff and mobile residents and a couple of mysterious old men in suits who might or might not have been members of foreign intelligence agencies.

 Sharon stood with her family at the gravesite and watched her uncle, a few cousins and Steve Rogers carry the flag draped coffin across the grass to the platform that would lay it into the grave. Her aunt and cousins wept on and off as the preacher spoke, soldiers carefully removed and folded the bright British flag, then the Carter family took turns placing flowers on top of the shiny wood coffin. Sharon stepped forward on her turn, laying the little bouquet of lilac and violets among the roses and lilies. Her eyes were dry, but her throat and chest hurt with repressed grief.

When she turned back she saw Steve, standing separate from the crowd, in his crisp dark suit, hands shoved in his pockets. He wore sunglasses, so she didn’t know where he was looking, but she swore she could feel his gaze searing her skin. The feeling persisted the whole time it took her to walk back to her seat.

There was a small memorial lunch. . . thing planned at her aunt’s house. Sharon was expected to go, but found she didn’t have much stomach for it. Peggy had been the only Carter she still got along with. She would either lurk uncomfortably in the corner until she saw an opportunity to escape or be conscripted into serving drinks and finger food to her elderly relatives as they droned on about what a fine woman Aunt Peggy was. Not that she wasn’t a fine lady, but she’d been so much more, too. And no one in that crowd would want to acknowledge that.

She slipped away while people were hugging and shaking hands, picking her way carefully around the plaques, heels sinking into the soft grass. Her mother’s brother was here somewhere - two tours in Vietnam ended in an ambush only two of his platoon made it back from. And the first boy to see her naked had gone to Afghanistan and come back in a box, to rest here forever instead of telling his sons about his hot blonde girlfriend from high school. Peggy was in good company, at least.

 

Sharon wandered the graveyard a while, reading names and dates and feeling grateful and lucky she’d survived her dangerous life so far. It was peaceful, and an almost pleasant afternoon, despite the muggy weather.

When she was sure the last of her family would have cleared out, she made her way back to Peggy’s grave. The grounds keepers were lowering the coffin into the hole and paused, eyeing her worriedly as she came up. “It’s all right,” she said, waving a hand for them to continue. “I knew where she was going.”

They nodded respectfully and continued with their work, using a lift to lower the box down. When it was down the rolled the equipment away, pulling over the cover of the concrete vault the coffin sat in. When that was sealed, they offered her a shovel to toss the first bit of dirt on. It was probably silly, her in her heels and dress, digging into the pile of dirt and tossing it onto the plain grey concrete. But she tossed a couple of good shovelfuls in before handing the tool back with a nod of thanks.

She left them to their work, so they could be efficient rather than careful of her feelings, and made her way out of the cemetery to the Metro stop. Her phone buzzed in her purse and she glanced at it only long enough to ensure it wasn’t work. It was a cousin, asking where she was. While she was flattered her absence had been noticed, she ignored it. 

Sitting in her town home for the rest of the day didn’t sound fun, but she needed to change out of her funeral clothes, so she hopped off at Adams Morgan and walked up to the narrow brick building she’d bought after joining the CIA. Once she was in her air conditioned little oasis maybe she’d feel differently about continuing her wandering.

Steve Rogers was sitting on her front steps, still in his dark suit, head bowed, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He looked up when she reached the the bottom step and though he still wore his dark glasses she had the distinct impression he’d been crying.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi.” She put a foot on the first step. It didn’t occur to her to ask how he’d found where she lived or why he was there. She climbed up the next few steps until she was standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have come here. I just. . . saw you at the funeral and I wanted to say something but it didn’t seem the right time or place.” He studied her, as if searching for something in her face. “Should I go?” he asked finally.

If he came inside, she had a pretty good idea of what would happen. A night of stress sex on a helicarrier was one thing. This. . . this might be something else entirely. It would be comfort, certainly, and God knew they both needed that. But there was a world of difference between a one night stand and a two night. This was her home they were sitting in front of. This was a step towards. . . something.

She reached out and stroked her fingers through his hair. “Come upstairs, Steve,” she said quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The positive reaction to this just delighted me! I love you guys.

_October, 2015_

One night became two, became a week, became months. Stark Tower couldn’t house the Avengers anymore and Stark was working on a compound in upstate New York and until it was done Steve was essentially homeless. Sharon didn’t think either had meant for him to move in. And maybe if they’d had problems or fights or gotten on each other’s nerves it would had ended before it began. But they fit into each others lives as if they had always been there and she saw no reason for him to go.

She worked and he kept the house, when he wasn’t Avengering. The role reversal amused them both, and she hoped somewhere Aunt Peggy was laughing that delighted little laugh of hers at the thought of Captain America: Housewife.

She was consulting with a friend on a series of arsons on buildings in Europe owned by various American based companies. It normally wasn’t the kind of thing that would make it to the CIA’s radar, but they had all the earmarks of terrorism, and since they were targeting American holdings, someone had decided it was worth investigating.

Looking at the pictures of the last fire, she noticed strange marks on the floor. Closer inspection showed it to be four shallow grooves, spaced like fingers. She didn’t mention it to her colleague, hiding her interest before he noticed.

When she went home to Steve he was cooking something elaborate and delicious smelling. Her uncertainty lasted only a few seconds. Looking back, that moment was a turning point for a lot of things in her life. The moment Steve became more important than her job.

She stood in the kitchen doorway and said, “Two nights ago someone with a hand that can gouge concrete burned down a factory in Poland owned by an American company.” 

Steve turned to look at her, cooking forgotten. His throat worked as he swallowed. “How-”

“We’re tracking it. No plans to move on it, since no one’s been hurt. But he’s been burning a lot and up till now no one knows why.”

He slowly put down the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir and wiped his hands off on the towel tucked into his pocket. “You shouldn’t be telling me this. If it’s an active case. You shouldn’t-”

“I know,” she said quietly. “You should go. He’s probably not there anymore, but you might catch a trail.”

Stepping to her, so close they were almost touching, he caught her shoulders in his hands and stroked her upper arms. “Sharon. I can’t - I don’t know -”

She popped on her toes and kissed him lightly. “I love you,” she said, for the first time and probably too early. But she felt it and she meant it and she needed him to know it. “You need to find him. You won’t be happy until you do. So I’m going to help, however I can. Go.”

He bent and kissed her, hard and urgent. He didn’t say he loved her back, but she hadn’t expected him to. She knew he cared for her and that she was very important to him. It would come, someday. And in the meantime, it was enough for her to love him. 

He returned a week later, with five days of beard growth and no more leads. She wrapped her arms around him and offered what comfort she could. Too impatient to make it to the bedroom, he laid her on the living room rug. He told her he loved her then, whispering the words against her skin, into her mouth. Sharon’s world spun and tilted before resettling into a new, steadier axis.

*

_February, 2016_

They spent Thanksgiving with her family, who took her dating Steve Rogers with admirable grace and acceptance. She imagined there was a contingent of Carters who would never speak to her again - either because she was somehow sullying Peggy’s memory or reminding them of the parts they didn’t want to think of, she didn’t know. Her mother and brothers welcomed Steve with open arms and gentle ribbing, caring only that she was happy and loved him and was willing to bring him home. 

Christmas was spent in Malibu, at Tony Stark’s newly rebuilt house on the water. It was a loud, boisterous affair. Steve got a good bit of teasing, mostly for dating anyone at all not specifically for falling for his old flame’s niece. Stark gave everyone ridiculously expensive gifts and Sharon even had her own little stocking, hanging over the fake fireplace.

The new Avengers campus opened after the first of the year and Steve split his time between upstate New York and her place in DC. She missed him when he was gone and even when he was there he was often distracted or called away early. It wasn’t easy, building up a new team from the bottom up. Most of them had some battle experience, the challenge was getting them to work as a team. But if there was one thing Steve was good at, it was a making a team out of nothing. Sharon gave him space and support and loved him with all her heart. It was hard, but they made it work.

He was home, luckily, the day she quit her job. 

It was no one thing that made her snap. It was a hundred small ones. It was a living and working in shades of grey that seemed to get darker every day. Until she wasn’t sure where, exactly, the line was between her and the bad guys. It was growing up with the goal of being s shield to protect the world and now feeling more like the slim dagger in the ribs.

She was escorted out of the building, her personal effects in a brown paper bag. She held her head high and chin firm as she walked past her former colleagues and coworkers and out into the slushy, grey DC winter.

Steve was on the couch when she got home, over two hours early, the news probably clear on her face. He put his sketchpad down and stood, opening his arms to her. She dropped her bag and stepped into him, sinking against his heat.

“You haven’t been happy a long time,” he said. She was surprised both that he’d noticed and that he was right. “I hated how down you got after missions.”

Nodding, she let him guide her to the couch, sinking down next to him. The adrenaline and relief she’d felt in quitting had worn off and now reality was starting to sink in. “I don’t know what to do now.”

He rubbed her back in little circles. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight.” He pressed a kiss into her hair and she sank into him, finding peace in his sturdy heat. “We’ll take a couple days,” he said. “You can breathe, take some time for yourself. Then start thinking of options.” He hesitated. “I could talk to Hill about finding you a place-”

She was already shaking her head. “No. Thank you for the thought, really, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She could feel him relax and loved him a little more for suggesting something he obviously wasn’t comfortable with. 

“It’ll be fine,” she said, trying to sound more sure than she was. “I have good skills and a lot of contacts. I’ll take a long weekend and start making some phone calls Monday morning.”

“That sounds like a plan.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tightly. “For now, you want to change and go out to dinner? These seems like it calls for messy burgers and milkshakes.”

She kissed him, happy and content despite it all. “You have the very best ideas.”

It was the closest thing to a vacation Sharon had had in years. They cooked together and lounged around the house. They made love in just about every room. She ignored her phone and for a few days the world consisted of no one but her and Steve.

It took a few phone calls before she got anything resembling a lead. Hill had poached most of them for the thing they were building in New York, but a few had gone their own way. On Thursday, after a morning convincing herself that working at Starbucks wouldn’t be _that_ bad, she lucked out.

An old sparring buddy from Academy had left SHIELD after the Chutari invasion, deciding there wasn’t enough money in the world to deal with aliens. He ran a private security firm in New York City and was very excited at the idea of adding a competent female to the staff. She could start whenever she wanted. She just needed to move to New York.

Steve was ecstatic. He hid it in excitement for her new job and concern at her family’s disappointment she’d be moving away. But she could tell he was really thrilled at the prospect of living in the city again. It would cut his commute time up to the Avenger compound to hours. And his smile when she agreed they could look for a place in Brooklyn helped her get through the six weeks of packing and train rides and house hunting that followed.

On the last weekend in March they moved into their semi-detached three story brownstone. Her DC townhouse had sold promptly and close to asking. That, plus money Steve had saved let them put in a large downpayment. And having Captain America on the mortgage with you really seemed to help the loan process. When the movers had left, Steve went and got them pizza from his favorite place and they sat on their sofa that now seemed too small for the room, amongst a sea of boxes, and ate greasy New York pizza in their new home.

It was a new start. A new chapter in her life. And starting it with Steve at her side seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

*

_May, 2016_

Playing bodyguard to New York’s movers and shakers suited Sharon surprisingly well. Granted, she wasn’t saving the world anymore. And some of her clients made Tony Stark look like a polite choir boy. But it was steady work, a flexible schedule and good money, in a city she was coming to love. With one of its native sons as her tour guide.

Steve seemed to thrive in the city. Though he’d said staying there before had been isolating, now he seemed to be seeing more of the New York he had loved as a young man. She imagined having someone to share it with made all the difference. And a happy and excited Steve Rogers was damn near irresistible.

They spent their off hours exploring. Finding all the best restaurants and shops. Steve was a big believer in supporting the local economy. So their groceries came from the corner store or the farmer’s market. Sunday brunch was eaten at a little cafe a few blocks from their building, where by the third weekend the owner knew them by name and the waitress had their drinks waiting by the time they sat.

He went upstate regularly, training the team and running small missions. The Avengers were keeping a low profile, the events in Wakanda and Sokovia still weighing heavily on the world’s mind. She got a sense that everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see how long peace and quiet would last this time. And when it broke, how much damage would happen.

But for now it was a bright, spring day. Sharon didn’t have a job until the weekend, the team was on hiatus, and she and Steve had a date with painting the third floor bedrooms. The house had five bedrooms and three baths. She’d argued when they bought it that it was too much for just the two of them. But Steve had loved the location and the variety of original touches left and so she’d let him talk her into it. They used the biggest of the three second floor bedrooms, turned one into a guest room and the smallest into an office of sorts. Up until now the two rooms on the top floor had no purpose and had been used mostly for storage. Apparently in the grip of some sort of spring cleaning urge, Steve had spent the week cleaning them out and had bought paint. He’d claimed one for an art studio and they were having a friendly argument about what the last one could be.

“I still think it would be nice to have a proper library,” Sharon said, carefully taping around the window trim.

“You read most of your books on your iPad,” Steve argued from his perch on a ladder, doing the same to the crown molding. “Exercise room makes the most sense.”

“On the third floor? We won’t be able to put any kind of treadmill or bike up there. And if you drop one of your weight it’ll go through three floors to the basement.”

“Would you like a sewing room?”

She resisted throwing her toll of tape at him. “First I’d need to learn to sew.” Finished taping her wall, she went over to the paint buckets to pour some into a tray. “Could just have a second guest room.”

“For all our overnight guests?” he asked, brow quirked.

Her family was making noise about visiting, but she was pretty sure she could convince them a hotel was the best option for everyone involved. “Fine. How about a sex room?”

The ladder wobbled dangerously and she laughed at his facial expression. She didn’t think she’d ever seen that particular blend of horrified fascination on his face before. “I was kidding, but if you had some ideas. . . “

He shook his head sharply and turned back to his taping. “Maybe I should check out some of those iPad books you’ve been reading.

In the doorway, her phone started buzzing and she brushed her hands off, going to answer it. “Glad I hadn’t gotten dirty yet,” she muttered, picking it up. Unknown name, but a DC number. Brow furrowed, she answered, “Carter.”

“Hi, Sharon.”

She recognized the voice as an old colleague at the CIA. For a moment panic rushed through her, chilling her, thought what, precisely she was afraid of she couldn’t say. Some small slight or screw up that was now coming back to haunt her in the worst way. “I-”

“Don’t talk. Just listen. I got maybe two minutes. You remember those arson cases in Europe. The American factories and warehouses with the weird marks on the concrete.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “We have him pinned in a little town in the Caucasus, outside Novaya. Eyes on him twenty four seven, he’s not getting away this time. A force is moving in to take him in twelve hours. I suggest you be there in ten.”

It took her a moment to speak. “Why are you telling me?”

He sighed. “I don’t know who this guy is to you. But I know you’re one of the good ones. And I know if we get our hands on him it’s not going to be above board processing. If he matters to you then maybe you deserve a chance at getting to him first.”

It could be a trap. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt honest. And it felt like their only chance. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Don’t mention it. Good luck.” He hung up before she could say goodbye.

 Steve had climbed off his ladder and was watching her in concern. “Sharon?”

She stared at her phone a moment, then sucked in a deep breath. “Get your bag. You need to be in a remote Russia town in ten hours. Less if possible.”

He stared at her a moment, a dozen emotions playing over his face. Shock, confusion, determination and finally, something like hope. Then he dropped the roll of tape he was holding and sprinted out the door.

There was no word for over a week. Sharon expected he didn’t have anything resembling cell reception, let alone time or energy to update her. She kept herself busy. The third floor rooms got painted. The kitchen got reorganized and the rest of the house got cleaned. She took a few jobs, mostly night gigs because falling asleep alone in their bed was lonely. When a full week had passed she began to wonder how long she should wait before worrying he was never coming back.

On the eighth day she got a text message, from an unknown number. There we no words, just a single american flag emoji. It made her laugh, not just because it made relief pour through her like a drug. He was alive and safe and apparently feeling good enough to be making jokes. That knowledge could get her until he made it home.

At the grocery store two days later, she bought enough for both of them on the hope he’d be home soon. She was still putting away boxes and playing Tetris in the freezer when she heard the front door open. She tensed, immediately on alert, then Steve’s voice echoed down the hall. “Sharon?”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. “In here!” she called out, loud enough for him to hear. Cramming the last box of Eggos into the freezer, she shoved the door closed and went running to meet him.

She came up short in the doorway to the living room. Steve was there, big and blonde as ever, with a week’s beard growth on his jaw. Her heart thumped a little fast just looking at him. He met her gaze and smiled, looking tired and relieved and cautious all at the same time.

Next to him stood a man she only recognized from old films and history books. He was pale and thin, brown hair too long and shaggy around his face. He looked in dire need of a few good meals and a week of sleep. His clothes were ill fitting and he stood as if expecting a blow, turned half away from her to make himself a smaller target. Metal fingers peeked out of the bottom of his sleeve and when he saw he noticed he shifted the arm away from her.

“Bucky,” Steve said, sounding calm and patient. “This is Sharon. Sharon, this is my friend Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky glanced at her and nodded, eyes wary and haunted.

Steve was staring at her, gaze pleading and uncertain. Like she was about to send them both back out the door. Aware that the next few minutes were probably going to be very important, she took a careful step forward, watching Bucky like she would a wounded animal she was trying to rescue. “Hi,” she said quietly. “It’s really nice to meet you. Steve talks about you all the time.” That made Steve smile a little and Bucky relax a fraction. “Will you be staying with us for a while?”

“We do have that guest room,” Steve said. He was now looking at her as if she was a goddess he intended to worship later.

“And you said two would be too many.” She felt on better footing now. “I’ll go set it up. Do you want to show Bucky the spare bathroom? I’m guessing it’s been a long time since either of you had a hot shower.”

Steve obviously stifled a little groan and even Bucky seemed to sag at the idea. “Thank you,” he whispered quietly. 

If he’d looked any less like a feral cat she would have reached out to hug him. As it was, she gave him a gentle smile. “You’re very welcome.”

The afternoon and evening passed in a blur. Sharon cooked a huge dinner that they ate in silence once her and Steve’s stilted conversation became too awkward. She had no idea what was or was not all right to talk about in front of Bucky. Reminding herself it was the first night, she buckled down and got through it, taking her time washing the dishes as Steve and Bucky went out on the back patio for some fresh air and quiet conversation.

Steve joined her in the bedroom an hour or so later, as she was folding laundry in the interest of doing something with her hands. He closed the door quietly behind him, then crossed the room to wrap her in his arms. “You’re amazing.”

Curling her arms around his waist, she leaning into him, taking deep breaths of his scent. God, she’d missed him. “How is he?”

“He said he was going to sleep. I think he just needed some space.”

“He seems. . .” She pondered how to phrase what she was thinking. “I expected him to be worse. I mean, obviously he’s traumatized but I expected a barely verbal amnesiac.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. So did I, on my bad days. But he remembers me. Even when I first found him. Told me my mother’s name was Sarah and I wore newspapers in my shoes. It’s all in there, the good and the bad. I think mostly he’s just trying to process it all.”

“That’s good, right? That he remembers? It has to be better than trying to coax it out of him.”

He nodded. “It’s good. He’s not the guy I grew up with but, then, I’m not who I was then either. So I guess we’ll spend some time figuring it out.” He kissed the top of her head. “I cannot thank you enough for letting him stay.”

Leaning back, she shook her head at him. “You’ve been searching for him for _two years_. He’s your best friend and your last link to your past. How could I possibly turn him away?”

“I wouldn’t have found him, if it wasn’t for you.” He cupped her cheek in a hand. “I love you.”

“I love you back,” she whispered. Then he was kissing her, mouth urgent against hers. Sharon groaned softly, melting into him.

He lifted his head long enough to tug her shirt up and off, then turned them, backing her towards the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

_July, 2016_

It was easier, for the first few weeks, for Sharon to just make herself scarce. She seemed to make Bucky slightly nervous and she didn’t want to threaten his recovery by pushing too hard. So she took a lot of short term gigs, mostly political rallies, one-off bodyguard arrangements and one week-long festival in which she encountered just about every drug known to man or beast. She got on first name basis with the cops after that one.

When she was home it was quiet and, if not entirely tense, then there was a certain heaviness to the air. As if everyone was waiting for the next shoe to drop. Meals when all three of them were there were polite, like three acquaintances shoved together at a table at a wedding.

She and Steve alone together were as easy and relaxed as they had ever been. And from what he said, he and Bucky were falling into their old patterns with more ease than he’d expected. It just seemed to be the three of them that threw the chemistry off.

The day before his birthday Steve was called upstate for some sort of vague emergency. Sharon strongly suspected it was Nat or Stark’s way of getting him up there for a surprise party, but didn’t say anything. He promised to be home in time for a birthday dinner and fireworks and it got him out from underfoot for her to plan. She had gotten the sense he was nervous about leaving her and Bucky alone, but he didn’t say anything and she didn’t comment. They were adults and he’d given no indication he might be teetering on the edge of a breakdown. They were going to have to spend time together eventually.

July 4th it was hot and humid. Sharon stepped out onto their front stoop in a tank top and cut off shorts, settling her sunglasses in place. There was a collection of neighborhood kids running in a sprinkler a few houses away, their squeals and laughter piercing the heavy air.

Bucky sat on the stone parapet that surrounded the stoop, a perch he’d been frequenting recently. Several times the last few weeks she’d come home to find him there, surveying the neighborhood like a guard dog, or a gargoyle. She was kind of waiting for the neighbors to complain about him, but so far not a word.

She stopped next to him and he glanced down at her. He was in a pair of worn jeans she’d picked up at a second hand store the day after he arrived. Steve had since bought him new clothes but he still wore a few of the older pieces she’d got him. He was wearing a sleeveless undershirt and it took her a moment to get over her surprise. He’d made an effort to hide his arm as much as possible, even as the summer got hotter. She supposed the weather today was enough for him to chose comfort over self-consciousness. 

“I’m going to the store for dinner supplies,” she told him. “Thought I’d make something elaborate for Steve’s birthday.” She looked up at him. “Want to come?”

He seemed to turn the idea over in his head a moment and she gave him time to think it over. Then he eased gracefully off the parapet, landing lightly on his boots. He stood beside her expectantly and, figuring that was as close to an answer as she would get, she headed down the stairs to the sidewalk.

It was a short walk down to the little corner store. It had a butcher station and small bakery plus a dozen or so aisles plus a fridge and freezer running along the back wall. It didn’t have the selection of a big chain store, but the meat and produce was always fresh and it didn’t require a taxi or subway trip.

Bucky followed close behind her as she wandered. She had a general idea of what she wanted to make, but liked to see what was around before deciding. Because he was there, she thought out loud. “I was originally thinking just steaks but looking at the selection I’m wondering if a roulade might be nicer. It’s not much more effort.”

She hadn’t expected an answer, but he said, “My mother used to do that with pork loin, when she could get it.”

Had she not been a spy and had training to resist torture and not give anything away, she would probably have fainted from shock right there in the store. As it was, she glanced over at him, then back at the butcher counter. “What do you think? Four and you and he can split the last one? Or should I just get five?” Feeding Steve had been a lesson in modifying portion size. Feeding both of them was like housing the better part of a football team. She was seriously considering getting a second fridge.

“It is his birthday,” Bucky said, the faintest hint of teasing in his voice.

She grinned at him. “Five it is.”

They had a friendly, if lively debate about what to put in it, before deciding on spinach, peppers and feta. He had wanted goat cheese, but she’d convinced him it wouldn’t have the right consistency when cooked. In produce, he helped her put together a rather elaborate salad, with apples, pecans and dried fruit, plus a homemade vinaigrette.

“Did Hydra implant chef skills while they were messing with your head?” He turned to stare at her and for a moment she wished the ground would swallow her up. Or at least that she could snatch the words back.

Then he grinned. An honest to God grin, a little crooked and maybe a little shy, but definitely a grin. “I watch a lot of cooking shows. Eat nothing but MREs and rations for seventy years, see if you crave a little variety.”

She laughed, at the comment and the sudden change in disposition. “Hey, if you want to be my sous chef we can eat like kings whenever you want.”

“Deal.” He scanned the store, narrow eyed. “Dessert?”

“Yeah. Seems like we should do something. Cake seems a little trite. It’s Fourth of July but-”

“He hates apple pie,” they said in unison. Bucky looked a little startled, then they grinned at each other.

“Strawberry shortcake?” she offered. He nodded his agreement and they gathered up strawberries, whipping cream and some fresh basil. She had the flour and such at home.

“Did you mean to grab mint?” he asked in line, sniffing at the basil.

“Nope. Basil whipped cream with strawberry shortcake. It’s divine.” He looked skeptical and she took the basil out of his hand and put it on the conveyor belt. “Trust me, MRE boy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

They got so much she sort of regretted not bringing her little metal cart. But Bucky lugged two of the bags on his metal arm and she tucked the third on her hip and they hiked back to the house in the heat.

“Think there’s a thunderstorm behind this?” she asked.

Bucky squinted at the sky. “Not today. Maybe overnight or tomorrow.”

“As long as it’s soon. I don’t see the heat breaking any other way.”

“I remember days like this before air conditioning. Rigging up fans to blow over ice. Running in the spray from fire hydrants.”

Sharon tipped her head back, climbing the front steps to their door. “Oh, now I’m going to have old-timey recollections in stereo.” Behind her, he chuckled, a rumbling noise in his chest that sounded oddly rusty and unused.

They unpacked the bags and got to work on prep. It was early still, but there was a lot of chopping and she could do a couple things ahead of time. Bucky lingered around the doorway until she told him to wash his hands and get to work. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he stepped into the kitchen and obeyed, carefully slicing peppers as she worked on the basil whipped cream. When she was done, she swiped a strawberry through it and handed it to him and he had to admit, it was very good.

Steve texted her during their prep, letting her know he was on his way back. Fourth of July traffic had clogged up the state so someone was giving him a ride on a quinjet. When she asked if he was going to be jumping out of it without a chute, she didn’t get a reply. Which probably meant yes.

It moved up their timeline, so when Bucky was done with the peppers he started on getting the strawberries macerating with some sugar and orange zest. They had a bit of debate on adding a dash of balsamic to give it a punch, but decided with the basil whipped cream and not overly sweet short cake it would be too savory. 

As he chopped, she noticed his hair fell into his eyes frequently, to his irritation. After the fourth or fifth sigh she put down the dough she was stirring, went to her room and returned with a hair tie. Coming up behind him, she pulled his hair back into a little bun at the back of his head. “There,” she said, going back to her dough to get it in the oven. “Also, I’m getting you some conditioner next time we’re at the store.”

He didn’t respond and she risked a glance back at him. He looked vague perplexed at what had just occurred. Then, with a little shrug, he went back to his chopping, smiling a little when his hair stayed put.  
 Which was how Steve found them when he came home; puttering in the kitchen together in matching buns putting the finishing touches on dinner.

“You’re just in time,” she told him when he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her. “We just put the roulade in the oven.”

“You’re making me dinner?” He glanced over at Bucky. “Both of you?”

Bucky lifted a shoulder, looking awkward. “Your girl is a good cook.”

“Your buddy’s not bad himself,” she replied, earning her a smile from the other side of the kitchen.

Looking a bit awed, Steve kissed her again. “Do I have time to shower? I’m sweaty.”

“Then why are you touching me?” she asked and squealed when he wrapped his other arm around her, tugging her against his sweaty shirt. “Go! Go shower, get off me.”

After another smacking kiss and a punch to Bucky’s arm, he disappeared up the stairs.

Dinner came out perfect, if she did say so herself. And for the first time since Bucky had come to stay with them, conversation was lively and animated. Steve told them of the ridiculous party the Avengers had thrown him, complete with patriotic themed gag gifts. This spilled into a story of he and Bucky when they were young stealing a fire cracker from the shop and setting it off in the little yard behind Steve’s apartment building. They’d manage to set a pile of rubbish on fire and his mother, normally calm and even tempered, had whupped them all the way back to Bucky’s place. The two of them told it with such detail, often talking over each other in an effort to really set the scene for her. Sharon’s sides were hurting by the time they were done.

Steve tried to clear the table but she and Bucky shooed him away, reminding him it was still his birthday. They worked together to get the dishwasher loaded and Bucky marveled a bit at how long after dinner clean up used to take. His old fogey pondering still had a bit of wonder to them, whereas Steve was sounding more and more like he wanted people to get off his lawn.

When the table was clear and the dishes were running she served up the strawberry shortcake and they trekked up to the roof to watch the fireworks.

They lined up, the three of them, in patio chairs and lounges and watched the sky darken. 

“You’re right, the vinegar would have been too much,” she said, glancing at Bucky across Steve.

He inclined his head. “The basil in the whipped cream was a good call.”

She nodded and resettled in her chair, feeling like they had come to some sort of accord. In the distance a firework burst high over the skyline.

“Look, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly. “They’re lighting up the sky for you.”

*

_August, 2016_

It was a long, hot summer. Steve went up to the Avenger base for two weeks at the end of July, leaving Sharon and Bucky to their own devices. They managed to entertain themselves. She introduced him at the brunch cafe as a war buddy of Steve’s that was staying with them. They went to movies. (She steered them more to comedy and light drama but he dragged her into a psychological horror film that left her curled up in a ball and sleepless for two nights.) They wandered thrift stores and second hand shops and came home with a couple of old cook books from the twenties and thirties and spent a very exciting weekend cooking dishes he remembered from his childhood. Steve came home to brown bread baked in a can, deviled eggs, a pineapple upside down cake and something made in a mold with Jello that Sharon refused to taste but the boys ate with enthusiasm only nostalgia could provide.

Bucky’s moments of anxiety and panic attacks became fewer and far between. There was one while Steve was upstate, during a particularly violent thunderstorm. Sharon had been at a loss as to how to help him, mostly grateful he wasn’t being violent. He huddled in a corner of the living room, looking pale and shaky, lost in his own memories. After some research online she’d taken a shot in the dark and built, essentially, a couch fort, between the couch and arm chair, using every spare blanket she had and gone to the kitchen to make cookies and give him privacy.

When she’d returned, he was huddled in the fort and accepted her offering of cookies and warm milk. Leaving him alone felt wrong, so she’d curled up on the other end of couch with a book. They’d both slept out there, waking in the morning to clear skies.

Her work slowed in August - New York’s rich and vulnerable were vacationing apparently - and the three of them spent a lot of time in the brownstone, nursing the AC. Sharon broke down and bought some enormous jigsaw puzzles, claiming the unused third floor room to put them together. Bucky would join her sometimes, needing to keep his hands busy when his nerves got to best of him. Steve would pop in as well, often covered in paint, to help them sort. He was very good at determining if a piece was the blue of a sky or a lake or the dress of the little girl in the upper right corner.

One day, right after lunch, she glared up at the stairs as if they’d personally offended her. She was sick of puzzles, sick of cooking and sick, to be honest, of her house. They needed something to do, all three of them. They were active, intelligent people. Idleness didn’t become them.

She turned on her heel and stalked back into the kitchen, where Steve and Bucky were cleaning up the lunch dishes. “I’m bored,” she announced.

They both looked over at her in surprise. “Out of puzzles?” Steve asked. Her glare was enough to make him back track. “Movie?”

“Nothing out that I have any interest in.”

“Is there a Dodgers game?” Bucky asked. “It’s not as hot today, would be a nice day for it.

Steve was looking a little panicked. Apparently he hadn’t told him about the team moving. Sharon was not going to be the one to break the news. Sports weren’t her thing.

“No,” Steve finally. “But that does give me an idea.” He looked back at Sharon. “Have you been to Coney Island?”

She shook her head, causing Bucky to turn to Steve in horror. “What kind of boyfriend are you?”

He shrugged. “We haven’t had a lot of time. But summer’ll be over soon. Seems like a nice day for it.”

“Is the Cyclone still there?” Bucky asked, with a grin that indicated the question was part of a joke she wasn’t privy to.

Sure enough, Steve groaned. “You know, I don’t get motion sick anymore.”

“Good, most of that puke ended up on me.” He grinned wider and Steve shook his head, smiling back. A moment passed between them that she didn’t understand and couldn’t quite put a name to. But it caused a little pang in her chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart that, she tried to ignore.

Sharon cleared her throat politely and they both jumped, clearly having forgotten she was there. “Right,” Steve said, tossing aside the dish towel he had draped over a shoulder. “Coney Island it is.”

They all headed upstairs to get ready. Steve told her there was a beach attached, so Sharon went digging in the back of her closet for her bathing suit top and a sturdy canvas bag to use as a purse.

Those moments between Steve and Bucky seemed to be happening more and more. It was hard to ignore the history that stretched between them. And she was happy, honestly and really happy for both of them that they had found each other and that Bucky remembered that history. She had come to like him quite a lot. They had a similar sense of humor. And he had the enviable ability to sit in a room in comfortable silence. As far as roommates went, he was one of the best she’d had.

But it was hard, sometimes, to feel like the third wheel in their friendship. She was sure there were times that she and Steve fell into their shared history and stories that made Bucky feel left out. She made an effort not to do so in front of him, but some things were unavoidable. And it wasn’t like she could ask them to stop, or fill her in on every in joke and story before it was said. It was just a fact of their lives together and she did her best to work around it.

They met in the front hall a few minutes later, dressed for a day at the beach and amusement parks. They loaded Sharon’s bag with a couple towels and sunscreen and spare clothes and then they were on their way.

Coney Island was like the biggest state fair she’d ever seen, strung out along a beach. It was crowded, mostly with families and kids, but lines were reasonable and it wasn’t claustrophobic. Sharon wasn’t much of a roller coaster person, so she left the boys to it. It was obviously some sort of male pride thing for Steve to go back on the Cyclone, so she stood at the rail and took pictures of them on the ride, laughing when they got off both looking rather green.

“You aren’t as young as you used to be,” she told them after sitting them on a bench and fetching some water.

“When my stomach comes down from the ride I will think of a comeback to that,” Steve informed her.

They avoided the wilder rides after that. A stroll through the carnival games was extremely entertaining. Steve won her a very large teddy bear at the strongman game. Not to be outdone, Bucky won himself a rather epic Nerf gun knockoff at the sharpshooting booth. Sharon proceeded to brush off her beer pong skills to get Steve a collection of goldfish. As a reward, they got funnel cake while Steve and Bucky named the fish after the Howling Commandos.

With their daily required amount of fried dough taken care off, they wandered a bit more before heading down to the beach. The sun was starting to dip, but there was more than enough light for Sharon to peel her shirt off and bask in her shorts and bathing suit top.

The boys joined her for a while, then noticed that Dernier the fish hadn’t made it. Bucky took the dead fish - bag and all - down to the water for a quiet, respectful funeral.

Steve watching him trudge down to the water’s edge before looking at Sharon. “I don’t know if I can every thank you for how great you’ve been. Letting him stay, drawing him out. Cooking with him. It’s above and beyond.”

“He’s your friend,” Sharon said, surprised. “I wouldn’t be much of a girlfriend if I didn’t try to be friends with him as well.” Glancing back at Bucky at the water’s edge she added, “He’s a good guy. I see why you got along so well.”

They watched in silence as Bucky dumped the dead fish into the ocean. He traced a vague cross over it and bent his head, making Steve chuckle. “He’s all I have left,” he said quietly. “Of that life. My past.”

Sharon reached over and held his hand. He laced his fingers through hers, so she leaned on his shoulder as they watched the waves lap the shore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking a break in freaking out about the Civil War trailer to read my little fic.
> 
> But seriously did you see that trailer?!

_October, 2016_

Sharon loved fall. Fall in Virginia could be hit or miss, sometimes unseasonably warm, sometimes brisk, with changing leaves. Fall in New York was far more picturesque, at least in her neighborhood. The trees turned color until they were explosions of fiery, sunset color. The air turned crisp in the evenings and then all day long. She bought thick, comfy sweaters and long scarves and little knit hats. She felt like she was in a movie sometimes, strolling along the sidewalk in her boots and cable knit sweater, a paper cup of coffee in her hands. 

Fall was also, apparently, special events season. When she wasn’t enjoying the chilly fall weather she was providing security at galas, fundraisers and exhibit openings. They were mostly at night, so she got home late, usually after Steve had gone to sleep. He and Bucky never failed to leave her a plate of supper in the fridge or cook her a big breakfast in the morning, though. It was a small, sweet way of taking care of her that never failed to make her smile. But she did miss their quiet evenings on the couch or the summer days spent exploring the city.

It was funny how easily Bucky had slipped into their lives. She now made plans including him instinctively. It was no longer a question of whether or not he would join them for a dinner out or a trip to the movies. She and Steve had been idly discussing going away for a weekend, maybe try skiing. And they had both spoken as if it was a given that Bucky would come as well. She’d even made a joke about getting stuck to his metal arm.

Someday it would change, she was sure. He would want to start his own life. Get a job, an apartment, maybe a girl. And when he was ready for that she and Steve would support him whole heartedly. But until then no one was eager to start kicking him out of the nest.

One evening she had a bodyguard job, which was at least a change of pace from the dozen charity galas that had made up the rest of her jobs this month. It was watching a little old lady _at_ a charity event, but it was still a change of pace.

They made their way around the art museum, Sharon’s client, Ms Martin, saying her hellos and greeting her fellow sponsors and art lovers. She seemed to know just about everyone and they all spoke to her with respect and deference. They were celebrating a new wing being opened and the little old lady had obviously had quite a bit to do with it, so Sharon was braced for a long evening. But right after the ribbon cutting and one turn through the room she came to Sharon and told her she was ready to leave.

“Are you sure, ma’am? It’s only nine.”

“Which is quite close to my bedtime,” Ms Martin said with a smile. “And I’m tired.”

Sharon offered the woman her arm out of instinct as they walked to the front of the museum. “I’m glad they sent a woman this time,” she said conversationally. “It’s usually big, grumpy men that intimidate everyone. You seem quite nice.”

Sharon smiled. “Thank you, Ms Martin. I’m glad to help.”

“You said your name was Carter, yes? Next time I have to come to one of these I’ll try ask for you.”

There was probably some sort of psychological reason approval from a self assured old lady pleased her so much, but Sharon didn’t feel like unpacking that now. So all she said was, “I always love a trip to a museum.”

Ms Martin patted her arm as they walked out of the museum. “Do you have someone to go home to?”

“I do, ma’am. I have a boyfriend.”

“Good, that’s good.” Her town car pulled out of line to pull up in front of them. “It’s good not to be alone,” she added as Sharon bent to open the door before the driver could get out.

“Do you want me to escort you home, Ms Martin?” she asked. 

“No, no. Gerald will see me inside. He’s been with me a long time.” She smiled sweetly at Sharon. “You go home to your man. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am. Have a good night.” She closed the door and waited to see the car pull out before heading the other direction to the subway entrance. Barring mass transit fuckery she’d be home by ten, which would be the earliest she’d gotten off work in weeks. She was greatly looking forward to a hot shower and some time on the couch with her boys.

When she got to the brownstone it was dark and quiet and she felt a little pang that they’d gone out without her. Well, there was no way for them to know she’d be home early. She could still have her shower and some couch time before heading to bed. Upstairs, before she could go into her room, she heard soft sounds on the third floor. Torn between caution and hope, she crept to the stairs and listened. It was definitely voices and she was fairly certain one of them was Steve.  
 Smiling, she headed upstairs and saw the light was on in Steve’s art room. Couch time was back on track. She crossed the hall and stepped into the room. And froze.

Steve and Bucky were in there together, but they weren’t talking anymore. Bucky was standing next to the easel, where a half finished sketch of him sat. Steve stood there as well, a pencil in one hand. And they were kissing.

Really kissing. Mouths open, tongues searching, hands in hair and under shirts kissing. In a way that made her one hundred percent certain that this was not the first time they had kissed this way. 

She must had made a sound. She would have liked to think it was a gasp but it was probably closer to a sob. The men jumped apart, turning to the door in unison. She had enough time to register their matching expressions of shock and guilt before she turned on her heel and ran downstairs.

Steve clattered down behind her, calling her name. Instinct took her to their bedroom and he followed her, catching the door as she tried to slam it shut.

“I can explain,” he said, closing it behind him quietly.

Sharon paced from one side of the room to the other. He stayed near the door, watching her cautiously. For a few moments she couldn’t speak, everything inside her feeling chaotic and confusing. She couldn’t form a complete thought, much less wrap her head around what she’d seen. But he waited patiently and eventually she stopped pacing, took a deep breath and said, “Fine. Explain.”

He looked surprised, as if he hadn’t expected her to actually let him talk. He didn’t answer immediately, rubbing the back of his neck. “Bucky and I. . . when we were young we used to.” He sighed and looked at the ceiling. She crossed her arms and waited. “When neither of us was in a relationship with a girl then. . . _we_ would be in a relationship. I guess the term now would be friends with benefits or something. But it was more than that. We were. . . it was special. But it was so _not okay_ so he would keep trying to find girls and we had to hide it.”

Reading between what he was saying, she said, “You love him.”

For the first time since he’d started talking, Steve met her gaze. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Betrayal felt like a heavy weight in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. “So the whole time he’s been here you’ve been-”

“ _No_.” It was said with such emphasis and urgency that she believed him. Steve was still a terrible liar. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Upstairs, what you saw. He had a panic attack, a nightmare or something. So he came up to see me and we were talking and I just. . . it happened. It will never happen again.”

He couldn’t promise that. She could hear it in his tone, see it in his face. The knowledge made his shoulders slump and her stomach turn over. She sank slowly onto the bed, reminding herself to breathe. “You should have told me. When he moved in, when it became obvious he was staying. You should have told me all this.”

“Would it have changed anything?” His voice was hoarse and painful to hear. “Would you have let him stay?”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she answered honestly. “I don’t know. But I had the right to know.”

Silence stretched and then the bed dipped as he sat on the end of the bed. “You did,” he conceded. “And I’m sorry. About that and today.” He sighed a rubbed a hand across his mouth. “If you want me to send him away-”

“No,” she whispered. Bucky had no one else, nowhere to go. Hurt as she might be, tossing him out in the cold didn’t sit right. “Nor do I want you to leave,” she added, since she knew that was where he’d go next.

“What do you want?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” The room suddenly felt crowded and stifling. She glanced at her watch. Not yet ten thirty. “I need to think. I’m going to go for a walk.” She stood and looked at him, head bowed, gripping the edge of the bed in white knuckled hands. Bending a little, she kissed his forehead. “I love you. But this is big and I need space to work through it. Please don’t decide to leave to make things easier for me.” He nodded so she left the room and went out grabbing her coat on the way.

It was dark and quiet, despite being fairly early for a New York Saturday night. Sharon walked with her head down and her hands shoved in her pockets. For a few blocks she couldn’t think of anything at all. It was too big, too complicated. Too painful. But eventually she had to face it, to start breaking it down into parts she could handle.

She found herself at their bunch cafe, which still had lights on. Pushing the door open hesitantly, she poked her head in and spotted the owner, a middle aged woman that seemed the epitome of diner waitress despite the froufy coffees and pastries she served. “Are you open?” Sharon asked.

“For a little while yet,” the owner said. “Come on in, I’ll give you a pastry on the house since I gotta toss ‘em.” She watched Sharon come in and walk to the counter. “You all right?”

Sharon tried to summon up a smile, digging out her wallet. “Bad night.”

The woman waved the money away. “Whatcha want, honey?”

“Mocha. And something sweet and indulgent.” She dropped a five in the tip jar when she still refused money, earning her a slightly exasperated look. 

She sank into a chair by the window and braced her head in her hands a moment. So. All right. Steve was in love with Bucky. Like, properly in love, not in a brothers-in-arms type way. They had had a physical relationship. And had come close to rekindling that again today.

She believed Steve that it had only been today. But she also believed that the odds of it staying that way were small, especially with Bucky sleeping under the same roof. But she _also_ didn’t want to be the one to kick him out. Maybe he could find somewhere to go. Sam Wilson might take him in, he’d helped Steve find him in the first place. Or maybe they’d finally tell the other Avengers about him and he could go up there.

_And Steve could see him when he was up there, miles away from you,_ said a nasty voice in the back of her mind. She chose not to listen to the nasty voice for now.

Kicking Bucky out was not the preferred plan. Move on.

The cafe owner put Sharon’s mocha and a thick piece of cheesecake on the table in front of her. “You have a fight with the blond boy of yours?”

“Something like that,” Sharon admitted. The cheesecake looked good. Maybe it would solve all her problems.

To her surprise, the normally gruff older woman patted her shoulder. “You sit here all you want. Let him stew a bit.”

“Thanks,” she said softy and the owner gave her shoulder a squeeze and went back to cleaning up behind the counter.

So if Bucky wasn’t leaving. . . should she? The idea of leaving, of breaking up with Steve, caused a sharp, breath-taking pain in her chest. She loved him, loved the life they had built together. He didn’t define her life, she had her job and friends and her family back in Virginia. But losing him would be hard. As hard as SHIELD falling, in some ways. 

If she didn’t want to kick Bucky out and she didn’t want to break up then where did that leave her? Going on as they had been, now with the added bonus of constantly worrying about whether or not Steve and Bucky were getting naked while she was at work. That thought caused her to dig into the cheesecake.

It was rich and sweet, with a cookie crumb crust and slivers of chocolate dotted through the cheesy filling. A couple of bites and a sip of her mocha helped her focus.

What if she didn’t have to worry about it, because she knew exactly what they were and weren’t doing?

Sharon considered herself fairly progressive and open minded. She had heard about open relationships, even knew a girl in college with a couple of boyfriends that knew about each other and everyone seemed happy with the arrangement. She was not a particularly jealous person. Most of her reaction tonight had been at the shock and betrayal of what appeared to be going on behind her back. There was a difference between that and giving them permission to indulge each other.

Did she want Steve going out to clubs or picking up people on the street? No. But this was Bucky. There was a history there, one she couldn’t touch or compete with. Their relationship was in the history books, had been debated by historians. And come to think of it, she could probably make a tidy sum by confirming once and for all that yes, they liked each other in _that way_.

Steve was, in the end, a man caught between two worlds, two times. Bucky was his history. They had shared life experiences, from growing up in Brooklyn in the twenties and thirties, to going to war together. Even finding themselves suddenly seventy years in the future. That held weight. And she, well, she was his future. Grounding him in the here-and-now. They’d gone through losing SHIELD and Peggy together and built a real life, complete with changing jobs and moving to a new city. That had its own weight, its own importance.

They both gave him something he needed, that only they could give. The question was, could they find a way to both give it.

The cheesecake was all but gone now, but it had served its purpose. She was calmer now and felt like she had a plan, crazy as it might be. She forced herself to turn it over in her head a few times, trying to see all the angles. It felt all right. It felt like something she could try. Maybe she’d hate it. Maybe sharing him would wear on her and she’d need to end it. But she would rather try and fail, than give up now and wonder.

Hell, it would be kind of convenient next time she was tired or sick to be able to send him over to cuddle with Bucky while she wallowed in her misery.

The thought made her chuckle a little and that, more than anything, eased the tension in her shoulders. If she had a sense of humor about it then it would be okay.

She drained her mocha and thanked the owner, bringing her dishes to the counter. “You gonna forgive him?” the owner asked.

“Yeah,” Sharon said. “I think we need to talk about some stuff.”

“Talking’s good. But make him grovel a bit. It’s good for them.”

Sharon laughed again and headed out, huddling inter her coat. Her walk home was faster. It was colder and quickly approaching midnight. She was still hoping to squeeze a shower out of this strange, awful evening.

When she neared the brownstone she saw Bucky doing his gargoyle impression on the parapet. He eyed her warily as she got closer.

Climbing the steps, she hopped up onto the parapet behind him, leaning her back on his. He stiffened a little, then relaxed. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“It would be easier,” she said eventually. “If I didn’t like you.” He chuckled, the sound rough and surprised. “I love Steve-”

“I know,” he interrupted. “And I’m sorry, I never meant to-”

“Let me finish.” He stopped, tensing again. “I love Steve,” she repeated. “But I don’t have the history with him that you do. I’m not going to ask him to choose between you and me. But I will ask you, right now, just between us. . . Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he said quietly, after half a beat’s pause. “He loves you and I know you’re good for him. You have this whole life set up here together. I don’t want to make him choose either.”

She nodded and let out a breath she hadn’t be consciously holding. “All right. Come inside. We need to talk, all three of us.”

He followed her inside where she found Steve looking miserable on the couch. He looked surprised and hopeful when he saw her come in, and a little confused when he saw Bucky with her. She paused to take her coat off and Bucky took it from her to hang up. Okay, she might be able to get used to this if their guilt meant she got waited on hand and foot.

She went to sit in the comfy blue armchair at one end of the couch and Bucky hunkered on the floor by the TV. Steve stayed on the couch, looking braced for a fight or to start packing.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking,” she said. “About a lot of things. I was upset because it was something you hid from me. I invited Bucky into our home and our lives without knowing your full history. That wasn’t fair to me. I know you didn’t intend to start any sort of physical relationship with him while he was here, but it’s out of the bag now and we need to deal with this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said and the hoarseness of his voice caused her chest to ache. “If I had thought for a minute that something like this would happen I never would have-” He stopped at looked at Bucky, obviously realizing he couldn’t honestly finish the sentence.

“I know you love him,” Sharon said quietly and they both looked at her. “And that you love me. However it started, whatever I knew or didn’t know, this is where we are now.” She looked over at Bucky. “You are a part of our lives. I don’t want to kick you out, because it’s not fair to ask Steve to pick one of us and because _I_ don’t want you to go.”

She folded her hands in her lap, unable to believe she was doing this but not wanting to stop. “So I suggest we find a way for all of us to stay, but with a new understanding of what our relationships are.” She could see on their faces that they had a glimmer of an idea of what she was suggesting but perhaps didn’t dare hope or believe it. “Meaning that if you two want to. . . express your relationship physically, then you can do that. With my blessing.”

There was a moment of complete and utter silence. She could hear, far in the distance, a siren out on the streets and a car alarm blaring. She waited for them to process what she’d said.

Finally, Steve spoke up, “Sharon are you-” He stopped again, obviously flummoxed on how to continue.

“You love us both. I thought you loved him as a friend so the current arrangement was working. I now know that’s not true. So I want to try this. To let you love us both the way you want to.” She took a breath. “I would prefer if for now you kept to kissing and hugging while we adjusted to the arrangement.” Looking at Bucky, she added, “I’m sorry, that’s probably not fair, to ask that. If you want me and Steve to dial back our physical stuff while we figure-”

He shook his head sharply. “I don’t even know if I’m ready for sex or anything more than what we did tonight. And I wasn’t unaware of what was going on in your room. I’m all right with it continuing.” He studied her a moment. “If I get to that point -”

“Just talk to me and we’ll renegotiate. I think the only way for this to work is if we all keep talking to each other and redraw these boundaries and limits as we go.” She shrugged. “I’ve never done this before. I may hate it. One or both of you may hate it. If so, then we talk and either reconfigure or call it off.”

“Sharon,” Steve said suddenly. “Are you _sure_?”

“I’m sure I want to try. I’m sure that the arrangement I’ve described doesn’t immediately set off red flags for me. I’m not sure I won’t wake up in a day or a week or a month and hate it. But we can deal with that when it comes. For now-” She spread her hands. “No one wants to leave. This way we all stay and we call get something out of it.”

“What do you get,” Bucky asked softly. “I see what Steve gets and what I get. But what about you?”

This is why it was so hard to dislike Bucky. “I get to keep Steve and my cooking buddy.” She smiled at him and he gave her his crooked grin in response. “I get a third pair of hands around the house. I get someone I can send Steve to if I’m tired or sick or otherwise not in the mood.” She glanced at Steve. “I love you, but you can be sort of intense sometimes.”

He still looked a bit like he’d been hit by a truck. But he stood up, crossed to her chair and scooped her up into an enormous bear hug. “I love you,” he whispered. “I can’t ever thank you for this. I don’t even know - You’re amazing.”

She rested her head on his chest, breathing in the earthy, woodsy scent of him. “I love you, too,” she said finally. “I want this to work. So. . . we’ll see how it goes.” She kissed his cheek and wiggled so he’d put him down. “Right now, I really want a shower and some sleep.”

A cool, metal hand curled around one of hers and she turned to look at Bucky. “Thank you,” he said softly, eyes intense.

Instinctively, she leaned into him a little. He wasn’t as solid as Steve - who was? - but he was lean and warm and smelled of crisp winter air. Summer and winter, the two of them. “You’re welcome,” she told him and squeezed his hand, even though she wasn’t sure how much he could feel.

Then she carefully disentangled herself from both of them and went to shower.

 Steve was in bed waiting for her when she came out in her pajamas. He held an arm out for her and she chuckled. “Honey, not even getting into today’s emotional upheaval I am _exhausted_.”

He grinned. “I was just going to cuddle.”

Smiling, she slid into bed with him and sighed as he wrapped her in his arms. She couldn’t imagine not sleeping like this ever again.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you,” he murmured into her hair.

“You have saved the world on more than one occasion.”

A laugh rumbled through him. “That’s true, that would explain it.” He squeezed her tight and kissed her temple. “Sleep well, Sharon.”

She murmured something incoherent in reply, drifting off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_November, 2016_

Sharon had feared that the next time she saw Steve and Bucky kissing would be hard. That she would feel a ghost of the initial hurt and betrayal or even some of the embarrassment of walking in on your parents making out. But when she walked in on them, a few days after their conversation, kissing in the kitchen while cooking, she felt none of that. She didn’t really have a name for what she felt. Some sort of acceptance, perhaps, that this is was the new reality of their lives. And that was all right with her. So, in an effort to erase they boys’ expressions of wary uncertainty, she’d patted Steve’s back, squeezed Bucky’s hand and stolen a piece of bacon while neither of them were looking.

Steve was called away for a mission the second week in November. She braced for it to be awkward again, with just her and Bucky in the house. But the first morning she woke up to the smell of pancakes and cinnamon apples and they were all good.

They were cleaning up the dishes when the phone rang and she dried her hands off to answer it.

“Sharon! I’m glad I caught you.”

“Mom?” Her parents were pretty technology savvy so most of their communication was through text messages and email. A phone was usually an emergency or bad news. “Is someone dead?” Bucky looked over at her, brows arched.

Fortunately, Mom laughed. “No one. I’m just in the market and wanted to call you and try to get an immediate answer. Can we count on you and Steve for Thanksgiving?”

Oh, crap. The holidays. She glanced over at Bucky who was studiously washing dishes and at least pretending not to listen. “You know, Mom,” she said finally. “I think we’re going to need to skip this year.”

“Oh no! Do you have other plans?”

“Sort of? A friend of Steve’s is staying with us and he has some PTSD issues, I don’t think we should leave him alone. He’s pretty much family. And you know we can be kind of overwhelming, all of us together.”

Her mother made little sympathetic noises. “No, I understand. So you’ll be having a nice quiet dinner up there?”

“Yeah. I might email you for some of your recipes.”

“I’m happy to share. Have a good time, we’ll be thinking of you.”

They wrapped up with some updates on her remaining older relatives and she hung up, promising to send presents for the nieces and nephews well before Christmas.

She still had her hand on the receiver when arms wrapped around her from behind, squeezing so tight she gave a little squeaking sound as the air was pushed out of her lungs. Bucky buried his face in her hair and held firm. 

Patting his flesh and blood hand, she caught her breath and said, “What’s this for?”

“You’re missing Thanksgiving with your family for me.” His voice was muffled so the tone was hard to read.

“I’m correct in assuming you don’t want to be subjected to the Carter horde?” He nodded. “Then of course we’ll stay up here. And I’m not missing out of family. I meant what I said. You and Steve are my family, too.”

He loosened his grip a little and went to kiss his cheek, much the way her brother would have if she’d done something particularly nice or helpful. But she tried to turn to see his face at the same time and his mouth found hers rather than her cheek.

It was a short kiss, and more or less chaste, but there was still a surprising amount of emotion in it. Sharon felt herself give into it, the way she would have with Steve or any of her previous boyfriends. And she might have imagined it, but she swore Bucky’s arm tightened around her for a fraction of a second. In any other circumstance she would have considered it the start of something far more interesting.

Then they parted, exchanged startled, embarrassed looks and retreated to opposite sides of the kitchen. Bucky finished washing the dishes and she made herself scarce doing the never ending pile of laundry.

Steve came home late that evening, long after Bucky had holed himself up in his room. Sharon was still awake, curled up in bed with a book. She lifted her cheek for a kiss as Steve headed to the bathroom for a shower and finished her page before turning off the light and curling up under the covers. She listened to the water run and turn off, then the quiet sounds of him drying off and readying for bed. When he slipped in next to her, he was naked, skin warm and slightly damp from the shower.

Their room tended to be the warmest, especially in the cold weather with the heat running, so she’d gone to bed in a thin cotton nightgown and nothing else. Steve curled up behind her and slid his arms around her, hands moving slowly over the fabric. “Are you asleep?” he murmured in her ear, nuzzling her throat.

“What if I was?” she teased.

His hands cupped her breasts through the nightgown, fingers circling her nipples till they peaked clearly against the cotton. “I suppose I’d roll over and see to myself.”

She rocked back and felt the hard length of his cock pressed against her. “Good thing I’m wide awake, isn’t it?”

“Very.” Bunching up her gown, he slid his hands beneath it. He cupped and shaped her breasts, tugging and tweaking the nipples until she was panting, grinding back against him. Then he moved one hand down and buried it between her legs. He tugged her right leg up and back, so it draped over his, then callused fingers stroked and parted her folds.

Steve groaned in her ear. “So wet,” he murmured, swirling two fingers over her clit before sinking them inside. “I love how you respond.”

Forming words was hard. She’d meant it when she said he was intense, especially after a mission. And at this point he knew every touch and tug and word that would drive her wild. “I - fuck.” His other hand was still massaging her breast and he’d run a nail along the underside, making her shudder and break out in goose bumps. “I missed you,” she managed to get out.

He made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh and his fingers moved faster. Sharon’s hips jerked and she arched, right on the edge.

Then he withdrew his hand, gripped her hip and thrust into her with one firm stroke of his cock.

 She shattered, crying out as pleasure flooded her. Muscles clenched around him and she shuddered again and again. Steve stayed still through it all, buried as deep in her as possible, riding it out. 

When she’d calmed, he kissed her shoulder and started to move, one long slow stroke after another. The position was tight, dragging him along her now swollen folds. The orgasm had been intense and more than enough for her, but she could sense he was determined to drive her to a second. So she relaxed into his motions, hips rocking in time with him.

Soon pleasure started to tense and coil again and she moaned. Steve released her hip and found her clit again. She whimpered and squirmed as the touch sent shocks through her.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured in her ear, thrusting a little firmer. “One more. Let me feel it.”

He loved to talk and God, did she love to listen. She let his voice curl through her and bucked up into his hand. He stroked her firmer, faster and that was it, all she needed, to be clenching around him again, saying his name in choked sobs.

This time he joined her, pumping into her a few times, rough and deep, before stilling and burying his face in her hair. They both drifted a while, wrapped up together, panting for breath.

Steve recovered first, carefully easing out of her and fidgeting her nightgown into place. She rolled onto her back and he slid an arm under her shoulders, tugging her close. He smelled of his summery, woodsy scent, now heavy with sex and hormones. It was nice to have him home, back in her arms.

His breath slowed and evened out. She intended to just go to sleep with him, but found herself saying, almost despite herself, “Bucky and I kissed today.”

He was quiet and shifted a little to look at her, but it was too dark to see his expression clearly. “It was accidental,” she explained, since he seemed to expect one. “He was trying to peck my cheek and I moved and it just. . . happened.”

He rubbed her shoulder lightly. “Are you all right? Were either of you upset?”

“No,” she said, relieved he didn’t sound upset. “It was awkward, but we both did our own thing for a while and by dinner it was like it hadn’t happened. He helped me with that new Van Gogh puzzle I’ve been doing.”

“Well. Good.” Steve pressed a kiss to her forehead and they resettled. “He’s a pretty good kisser, isn’t he?” he said after a pause.

Sharon laughed, nodding. “He is.”

“Feel free to do it again, if you both want,” he said, cautious and unsure. “I shouldn’t hog that talent for myself.”

It was a new facet to the arrangement, the idea she and Bucky could be affectionate in their own right. She wasn’t entirely sure what to feel or think about it, so she decided to tuck it away for now and closed her eyes. “Maybe,” was all she said. It was apparently enough for him, as he kissed her forehead again and relaxed back into the pillows.

*

_December, 2016_

Thanksgiving was a calm, mellow affair. Sharon made a turkey and her mother’s sweet potato custard and four pounds of mashed potatoes. Bucky baked rolls and a chocolate pudding pie and Steve showed them both how to make his mother’s onion gravy. None of them were much into football so they draped themselves in front of old movies in their post-feast coma and were asleep embarrassingly early.

Work was on and off, Steve went upstate for a week for another round of training, then declared himself on vacation till the new year, barring world saving. Snow came in fits and spurts, sometimes coating the neighborhood in white, sometimes filling the gutters and sidewalks with grey slush.

Sharon bought gifts for her nieces and nephews and sent them to Virginia, along with Hickory Farms baskets for all the adults, planning an equally quiet Christmas.

One morning at breakfast, about a week before the holiday, Bucky looked across the table at her and asked, “Would it be all right if Steve slept in my room tonight?”

It was, perhaps, the most polite way of saying “Can I have sex with your boyfriend” possible. Steve froze, fork halfway to his mouth and looked at her. 

Her first reaction was pride, that Bucky had come so far and thought he was ready for that intimacy. The second reaction was intense panic that this would be the thing that made her lose Steve entirely. She didn’t trust either of those reactions so she said, as calmly as she could, “Can I think about it?”

And Bucky nodded and said, “Of course.” And Steve relaxed and they went back to eating, more or less normally.

Think about it she did, all day long. She ran down the block to drop off the dry cleaning and thought about sleeping alone all night, with Steve just a couple doors away. As she walked the aisles of the grocery store she fought with herself, trying not to picture the two of them together. In the produce section she stared at the kale and wondered if maybe she _should_ picture them together. Maybe that was better. Hell, maybe she should watch.

Putting the groceries away at home she decided no, that probably wasn’t a great idea, especially not the first time. She had Steve all to herself, Bucky deserved the same.

With the fridge and pantry full she was still restless so she went back out and hopped the subway to go into the city to get the last of her Christmas shopping done. She’d managed to avoid the mall up till now, so the aggressive decoration and Christmas carols that enveloped her were pleasant rather than grating.

She found a heavy sweater for Steve and some more cookbooks for Bucky. Then she marveled to herself that she was spending fifty dollars on a man who wanted to sleep with her boyfriend. The thought made her smile and chuckle to herself as she strolled out of the mall.

Somewhere between that and the door of her house, she stopped thinking about it and apparently came to a decision. She hurried upstairs to hide the presents in the spare room closet, which she had claimed for hiding purposes (Steve had the closet in his studio and Bucky had his room). When she came downstairs to find out what dinner plans were she found the two of them on opposite ends of the couch. Steve had a sketch pad and seemed to be drawing the collection of books, candles and decorative glassware that lived on their coffee table. Bucky was tucked up on his end with a book, but as she watched, he didn’t turn a page.

She thought about the Bucky Barnes she’d known from books and movies and Aunt Peggy’s stories. He’d been larger than life. Captain America’s right hand. She still saw glimpses of that man, here and there. Maybe that was all there would ever be, those glimpses. She couldn’t imagine that man taking up so little space, curled in the corner like that.

Sex didn’t solve everything. Maybe it didn’t solve anything. But it was normal and joyful and a connection. And maybe it would make more of those glimpses come through. He deserved the chance.

Crossing the room, she leaned over the end of the couch and wrapped her arms around Bucky’s shoulders. He started in surprise, then tipped his head back to look at her. “Yes,” she said. “Have fun, don’t be too loud and if it becomes a regular thing we’re going to need to work up some sort of custody schedule.”

Confusion furrowed his brow, then it cleared and he smiled. “Tuesdays, Thursdays and every other Saturday?”

“I’m sitting _right here_ ,” Steve said, sounding amused.

“Two hot people are bartering for you,” Sharon told him. “You can deal.” She leaned down and kissed Bucky, fast and light. “Dinner? I just restocked the pantry.”

He tossed the book aside and got up. “Let’s see what we can cook up.”

Sleeping alone wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. She kept music playing softly all night, sprawled in the middle of the bed and slept like a rock. In the morning the boys slept in, so she dug her waffle maker out of the back of the pantry and went to town. By the time they staggered downstairs there was a tall stack keeping hot in the oven and she had maple syrup warming and bacon frying.

Steve hugged her from behind and nuzzled her hair, dancing her around a little. She had to laugh, swaying with him, at how very pleased with himself he was. He let her go and Bucky leaned in, kissing her cheek, and stole some bacon.

She was surprised at how very okay she felt. There was no anger, no jealousy. She was happy for them, that it had quite obviously gone well. Bucky might actually have been humming as he set the table. Smiling to herself, she went back to her cooking. This was actually going to work.

Christmas was as mellow and calm as Thanksgiving had been. The boys loved their gifts. Steve bought her new pajamas and a matching robe, some perfume and expensive bath salts and some books. Bucky, likely with Steve’s help or at least money, had bought her an extremely fancy coffee maker that might have taken an engineering degree to run. They spent half the morning setting it up and the rest of the day making every kind of drink it could. By nine o’clock they were both buzzing on caffeine and Steve took away their coffee privileges.

At two am Steve was falling asleep on the couch and she and Bucky were seriously contemplating invading a small foreign nation. So Steve went to bed and they stayed up, playing every board game they owned, finishing her current jigsaw puzzle and wondering if it was early enough to start drinking coffee again.

They fell asleep in a pile on the couch, her head on his heartbeat and his hand tangled in her hair. She woke to Steve standing over them, taking their picture, with a shit eating grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's short, I'll try to do an extra update later this week.
> 
> I just want to say, my husband gave me a new coffee maker as an early Christmas gift and my reaction was essentially the same as Sharon and Bucky's


	6. Chapter 6

_January, 2017_

After a blissfully calm and uneventful holiday season, the new year hit with a vengeance. Steve got called away with the team three times in two weeks. Event season had ramped back up and Sharon was taking gig after gig, trying to pay back some of her present debt. Bucky kept house, joking about being a kept man and getting some pretty aprons.

She’d worked eight of the last twelve nights and while the money was nice - she’d even gotten a couple tips - she was seriously considering taking herself off the roster for a couple of days, just so she could sleep. But then Ms Martin called in and requested her. So she put on her best black suit and went to a museum.

This time she picked her up at her Manhattan town home that probably cost more than Sharon would make in the next dozen years. It meant crawling through Saturday night Manhattan traffic, but Ms Martin kept the window between them down and chatted with her. “I’m sorry for the late notice, Ms Carter,” she said. “Gerald came down with a fever earlier this week and it didn’t feel right to drag him out at night in the cold.”

“It’s all right, ma’am.” Sharon glanced in the rearview mirror. “I appreciate you requesting me.”

“Well, you were good company last time. And quite nice to look at, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

She really shouldn’t be blushing at a ninety year old flirting with her. But, then, what did she go home to every night? “Well, I hope you like black suits.”

The old woman laughed. “I always had a soft spot for a lady in a suit.”

Ms Martin had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting. “You can call me Sharon, if you want. And if you promise not to get fresh.”

Her laughter was creaky but very enthusiastic. “You have a deal.”

They pulled up to the history museum fashionably late. Sharon handed the keys over to a valet and offered Ms Martin an arm as they walked up to the front. “What are we celebrating?” Sharon asked her.

“Oh, this one is a fundraiser. Silent auction.”

“Are you going to buy anything?”

She peered around the lobby, obviously studying and weighing everyone. “Maybe. Mostly I’m just proving I’m not dead. At my age you drop out of society for more than a month and the estate sale people come knocking.” Sharon laughed and they strolled into the main rotunda, where the auction was set up. Ms Martin patted her arm and broke away to make her rounds.

Many of Sharon’s clients needed actual security. For those jobs she wore sensible shoes with her suit, came armed, and blended into the background, keeping an eye out for trouble. But there were those jobs where the client just needed an escort, for lack of a better word. Usually older and always wealthy, they didn’t want to attend an event alone, or their family worried about them out alone at night. So she went as an escort, without any naughty expectations. 

Lingering a few feet from Ms Martin, she followed her around the room, peering at some of the items for sale. It was mostly free tickets to events, some jewelry and art work. One pedestal had a very pretty crystal pyramid. It was mostly clear, with shots of color through it. The five year old in her that used to bring home pretty flowers and interesting rocks kind of longed to touch it, so she folded her hands behind her back and studied it.

She’d never been much for Egyptian stuff, despite a couple friends in high school going through mythology obsessions that had included a lot of ankhs and knowing what phase the moon was in. She liked more modern history, for fairly obvious reasons. She did remember one of them pontificating on some car ride or another how pyramids were the perfect shape and that’s why they had lasted so long. Triangles were structurally sound, properly balanced. With none of the weak spots of other shapes. Sharon didn’t know if that was actually true, but they certainly had stood the test of time.

It made her think of home and the two men waiting for her there. And that made her stop in her tracks.

They weren’t a pyramid or triangle. Not really. She and Bucky were spokes off of Steve. Three points on a line. Oh, they had their moments. She really did enjoy cooking with him and he had become more affectionate and comfortable with her recently. She couldn’t imagine the Bucky that had first come to them hugging her or kissing her cheeks the way he did now. And, if she was going to step back and analyze her feelings, she had grown extremely fond of him. But they weren’t really. . . they didn’t have a relationship.

Did they?

“You look very serious,” Ms Martin said at her shoulder. “Contemplating the mysteries of the East?”

Sharon smiled. “No, admiring the sparkly. I’m part magpie, you know.”

“It does catch the eye.” She stood back to inspect the pyramid with a far more discerning eye than Sharon had used. “I think I’d like it better without the color. Just clear and faceted. Would catch the eye more.”

“I should start sending my boyfriend to these,” Sharon told her as they started to walk again. “He’s an artist. You two could critique all day.”

They finished their circuit and went through again so Ms Martin could put bids on a few items. The winners wouldn’t be announced until much later, and Ms Martin started to fade around ten, so she said her goodbyes while Sharon had the car brought around. 

Traffic was much better heading back and within an hour Sharon was walking her up to the front door. “It was lovely as alway, Ms Martin.”

“You’re very sweet, Sharon. Why don’t you call me Angie. I’m running out of people that do.”

They stopped at the front door and Sharon stared at her. “Ang- Are you Angela Martin the actress?”

She chuckled. “Technically, I’m Angie Martinelli, the actress. But they told me it was too ethnic when I went to LA. And I was a kid younger than you and about to be in a movie with Bette Davis so what did I know?”

“I saw you when I was fourteen! You were on Broadway playing Eleanor of Aquitaine in The Lion In Winter. You were _amazing_.” Her mother was never going to believe this.

Angie cackled, but it sounded pleased, at least. “That was a fun one. I can’t believe there’s anyone remembers that.” She reached up and patted Sharon’s cheek. “You just made my night, kid.”

Still a little star struck, Sharon waited until she was safely inside and had engaged the alarms, before heading down to the subway.

On the trip out to Brooklyn she found herself thinking about pyramids again. Maybe it wasn’t fair to think they were a line or spokes on a wheel. Maybe they were some kind of awkward triangle. A right triangle with two long side that connected her and Bucky to Steve, with a smaller, less established connection between them. It hadn’t been there a few months ago. And who knew what it would be a few months from now.

It was past midnight when she got home, but there were still lights on and when she came in she found Steve and Bucky on the couch, watching a black and white movie, bowl of pop corn balanced on their laps. For a moment she just looked at them, feeling a warm swell of affection for both of them. She couldn’t imagine life without either of them anymore.

Steve looked over and smiled at her. “Hey. Good night?”

“Yeah,” she said, peeling her coat off and hanging it up before going to join them. She sat on the other side of Steve, leaning on the couch arm and draping her legs over both their laps once Bucky had moved the pop corn bowl. He then obligingly tugged her shoes off.

“Are you getting some time off?” he asked, rubbing her ankles lightly.

“Yeah, I took myself off the schedule till Wednesday. So I can have a few nights at home.”

Obviously happy with that, Steve leaned in to kiss her, then slung an arm around her waist as they watched the rest of the movie.

The next day was Sunday. They strolled down to the cafe for brunch and to drop off a rather large stack of Sharon’s suits with the dry cleaner. Back home she put on a load of regular laundry and Steve decided the bathroom needed to be cleaned. Bucky had spent the last couple weeks doing nothing but keeping house so he rather pointedly plopped his ass on the couch with cooking shows until they were done.

Sharon brought out drinks and snacks, joining him on the couch and Steve came a few minutes later, with his sketchbook, smelling vaguely of lemons and bleach. He sketched and Bucky channel flipped and Sharon wandered the internet on her laptop for a while, all in companionable silence. 

There was no way to ease into this conversation, no opening salvo that would brace them for what she was about to bring up. They were all adults. They’d survived weird and difficult conversations before. So she closed her laptop, took a deep breath and asked, “Did you two ever. . . share a woman?”

The boys both stopped what they were doing. The TV was on some ridiculous, cheesy sci fi movie and Steve had probably ruined his sketch. They looked at each other before they looked at her and she already knew the answer.

“There was one girl,” Steve said slowly. “During the war. A USO girl,” he added quickly, because panic had begun to show on Sharon’s face. “It was a one time thing. I became serious with Peggy pretty soon after.”

She nodded, letting out a slightly relieved breath, assuming that was all, when Bucky piped up. “What about Brigit?”

Steve blushed so hard his ears turned red and Sharon was very interested again. “Who’s Brigit?”

“I don’t know that that-”

“A girl of mine,” Bucky said, smirking a little at Steve’s reaction. “Before the war. She was. . . she liked the idea of being watched. Having someone ‘catch’ us fooling around. So a couple times I brought her home and Steve would watch and draw us. She _loved_ it.”

Steve had his face buried in his hands. “She was really loud.” 

“But enthusiastic,” Bucky added with a grin.

Sharon had her elbow braced on her chair arm, chin on her fist. “You know, these are the old fogey stories no one talks about.”

Bucky had obviously warmed to the topic. “She was a redhead. Freckles everywhere. And, yeah, loud.”

“I’m surprised you’re complaining,” Sharon said, directed at Steve. “You like dirty talk.” He shot her a look and she shrugged. “That cannot be new information to anyone in this room.”

“It wasn’t talking.” Bucky’s grin had widened. There were unexpected, hilarious benefits to being friends with the person your boyfriend was also having sex with. “She’d just moan and scream, at the top of her lungs. With the barest amount of contact or simulation.”

“Okay, that sounds a little obnoxious.”

“We had neighbors,” Steve said, recovered sufficiently from his embarrassment to again add to the conversation. “They started to complain.”

Sharon laughed. “Is that why you broke up?” Steve and Bucky exchanged a vaguely guilty look and she had to laugh harder, pressing a hand to her ribs. After a moment, the boys joined in.

When they had calmed, Steve asked, softly, “Why did you ask?”

She sobered completely and realized they were now watching her. Bucky looked a little surprised and a little intrigued. Steve was keeping his expression carefully neutral, probably so as not to pressure her.

“I was curious,” she said, because it was at least partially true and bought her a few moments to gather the rest of her thoughts.

Steve arched a brow. “Is that all?”

She was quiet a moment, meeting his gaze. “I’ve been doing some thinking about pyramids. And us. The three of us. How we work together. I think - I think it’s been working, so far.” They both nodded when she paused and she was surprised at how relieved that made her. Good to know they were all on the same page. “I suppose I was starting to think about what it might be like to . . . close the triangle.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “You mean you and I-”

“I was thinking more all three of us.” There. It was out and she’d said it. No taking it back, no hedging. “I’ve never done it. I’m not entirely sure if it would work or if it would make things better or worse. But I thought, maybe, it was worth having you guys think about it.”

The boys looked at each other, seemed to have one of those silent conversations people could do after a long relationship. She and Steve did it too, on occasion, though not about opinions on threesomes.

“It is worth thinking about,” Steve said finally and Bucky nodded. Then he picked up his sketch book and Bucky started channel flipping and she reopened her lap top and went back to her browsing.

Despite only blocking herself out till Wednesday, Sharon’s bosses felt benevolent (or the party season was lagging again) and she ended up getting a whole week off. It was the first Friday she’d had off in the New Year and she was looking forward to it. Maybe she’d convince the boys to go out to a movie. There wasn’t much out in January but surely there was some sort of thought provoking art-house flick she could con them into seeing.

These nascent plans took a sharp left turn at breakfast when Steve put down his orange juice glass abruptly and announced, “I’ve had threesome fantasies about the two of your for months now and would really like to try it,” all in one great rush before covering his eyes with a hand.

She and Bucky exchanged looks over their coffee mugs and, to her surprise, had a silent conversation of their own. With a few raised brows and smirks and nose wrinkles they agreed that this was a serious conversation that deserved their careful, thoughtful attention. But for right now they were going to mess with Steve, just a little, because it was hilarious when he was embarrassed and he was cute when he blushed.

“What kind of fantasies?” she asked, setting her mug down gently.

“Yes,” Bucky drawled. “Tell us more. Are there diagrams?”

“He’s blushing darker, there _are_ diagrams. Quick go get his sketch pad.”

“Fuck you both,” he muttered into his hands.

“Apparently,” they said in unison and even Steve cracked up.

When the laughter had passed, successfully breaking the tension, Sharon said, “So you’re on board, then?”

Steve cleared his throat a couple of times, drank more juice, and said, “Yes. I love you both. I’m attracted to you both. I love. . . how comfortable you’ve gotten with each other. I think it would be fun and a good next step for our arrangement, or whatever this is.” He cleared his throat again and added, “Plus it would be hot as fuck.”

She looked at Bucky. “He makes valid points. Where are you on the idea?”

He sipped his coffee, then tipped it back to finish it off before twirling the mug between his palms. “I like having sex with Steve. It helps. . . ground me. Makes me feel human. I remember having sex with girls and enjoying it. And I do find you attractive,” he added, with a little reassuring glance at her. “What we have here feels like family. And in some ways having all of us be together and. . . intimate, I guess does make sense. I guess my only worry is it being awkward between Sharon and I. Since we’ve never-”

“I wouldn’t want either of you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with,” Steve said.

Sharon got up, went to the shelf where they kept the cook books and picked up the old depression era cook book they’d gotten a while back. She brought it over to the table, set it down and started rapidly shuffling through the pages. Bucky gave her a crooked smile and stuck a finger into the pages as she did so and she let it fall open to that page.

They bonded over cooking more than anything. Telling stories of helping their moms in the kitchen. Of trying to make breakfast at far too young an age. Of small fires and truly unfortunate flavor combinations. They were both people who liked something to do with their hands when they talked and cooking kept them quite busy.

She leaned over and peered at the recipe title. “We will discuss our boundaries while making chicken and dumpling soup.”

“Not the sexiest of dishes,” Bucky lamented.

“It will be when we’re done with it.” She glanced over at Steve. “You’re welcome to hang out and listen, but I think he’s right that he and I need to sort ourselves out. We both know what our boundaries are with you.”

“I’d like to hear. So I’m not making any assumptions.”

She nodded, and Bucky nodded and they cleared the breakfast dishes and got to work.

It was, by far, the most detailed and thorough discussion about sex she had ever had. And that included any birds and the bees talk given by her mother or her sex ed teachers. They stumbled a few times, mostly with vocabulary. There were several lovely, vaguely dirty ways to refer to a penis but virtual none for a vagina that weren’t juvenile or an insult. Bucky suggested “dumpling” in honor of their meal of choice and Sharon found that funny enough that they began to refer to the chicken part of the soup as “cock” and had Steve blushing and groaning in short order.

When they came right down to it, their hard limits were pretty minimal. Mostly, there were certain things - namely penetrative sex of his cock and her dumpling - that they weren’t sure they were ready for. Her because she wasn’t sure if it would feel like cheating on Steve. He because he wasn’t sure how ready he was for sex with anyone but Steve. But kissing, hands and oral sex didn’t set off the same alarm bells. Between that and all the things they were willing to do with Steve it sounded like they could have a very pleasant evening.

By the time they had the soup ready they were both happy with the conversation and the decisions made therein. Though as she sat at the table to eat the soup for lunch, Sharon was noticeably wet and suspected the boys were equally turned on by the explicit talk.

“So,” Steve said, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Now what?”

And, oddly enough, that was when Sharon’s vague urge to go out came back into play. “I think we should go on a date.”

They looked at her like she was nuts. “The three of us?” Bucky asked.

“Yes. Look - we could try to jump right into it now. But I think we’d all be tangled up in our own heads and nervous and it would increase the odds of it getting awkward. I think, maybe it needs to feel more. . . organic. So what if we just go out, get a nice dinner somewhere, share some wine and not sexually explicit conversation and come home and. . . let things progress. Rather than finishing our soup and marching to the bedroom like this is some sort of mission we need to accomplish. I know the wine won’t help you two, but a couple glasses could certainly lower some of my inhibitions, which can’t hurt.”

The boys exchanged a silent conversation, then looked back at her. “Date it is,” Steve said. “I’ll make reservations.”

She hadn’t meant _that_ fancy a dinner. But Steve was old fashioned about some things and this was a special occasion, of a sort. So she nodded in agreement, as did Bucky and they finished their soup.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we start to earn our E rating. Reading with a cool drink handy is suggested.

The afternoon seemed to drag on and a few times she regretted her suggestion to wait. But, hey, anticipation was a hell of an aphrodisiac and eventually the sky began to darken and it was time for their date.

She wore a dress, because when one was going to a restaurant with table cloths and reservations it felt appropriate to wear a dress. Especially when flanked by two very hot guys. Steve had spruced up as well, in dark slacks and the nice sweater she’d bought him for Christmas. Bucky didn’t really own anything like dress clothes but he had on his nicest, darkest jeans, and a button up shirt under a leather jacket that brought to mind James Dean or a young Marlon Brando. Neither she, nor Steve were complaining.

 They got some looks at the restaurant. Mostly women, who she suspected were trying to figure out which of the boys was her date and which was the third wheel. They were all treating this like a date and while no one at the table was one for huge acts of PDA they were all affectionate people. So they both poured her wine and they all ate off each others plates. Twice Steve played footsie with her and once Bucky put a cautious hand on her knee. She was surprised at the frisson of heat the sent up her and she reached down to hold his hand for a few moments.

She had to admit, by the time they were in the cab headed back home she was well and truly wound up. All three of them were. The tension in the car was heavy. Steve’s leg jiggled up and down and Bucky was worrying at the fake leather of the car door. Sharon sat between them, skin tight and hyper aware, trying to focus on her breathing so she didn’t jump one of them right there.

Steve shoved a bunch of bills at the poor cabbie, which seemed to include an exorbitant tip. They spilled out onto the sidewalk and managed to refrain from sprinting up the steps. They did all move fairly quickly, Sharon unlocking the door at record time. They stood in the entryway a moment, stripping out of coats and scarves, then, without having to say a word, all walked upstairs to Steve and Sharon’s room.

It occurred to her that having a third bedroom, just for this, might be beneficial. So no one felt they were intruding on anyone’s territory. But it was way too late to suggest it now. Probably a project best taken on once they decided this was going to be a regular thing.

Once in the room, Steve closed the door and reached for her. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him hard. His hands slid over her, down her back to cup her rear, pulling her against him. For a few moments she just enjoyed it, arching and grinding into him. This was the problem, though. She and Steve had their routines and he and Bucky had their routines. Effort came in combining them. So she gave Steve one last, hot kiss and turn in his arms.

Bucky was standing a few feet away, watching them, expression aroused and uncertain. Sharon reached out and caught his arm, tugging him closer. She leaned in to kiss and whispered, “Okay?” giving him time to back away.

He nodded and closed the distance, kissing her. It was different from their previous pecks, intense and focused. There was passion there, and longing. She wondered if he was worried about this not working out. If he thought it would be him put out in the cold if they couldn’t make it work. The only way she had of reassuring him was to kiss him harder and start unbuttoning his shirt.

She peeled his shirt off, then gently touched the hem of his undershirt and arched a brow. He’d worn a few sleeveless tops in the heat of the summer, but she had never seen him shirtless. She assumed Steve had, but one of the things Bucky had mentioned being wary about was his arm and the scars. If keeping the undershirt on made him more comfortable, it wasn’t her decision to do otherwise.

The problem was solved by him grabbing the shirt and yanking it off. She heard fabric tear as he got it over his arms. The scars that marked the end of his flesh and the beginning of metal were red and angry and they made her heart hurt and her blood burn that someone had done that to him. She felt Steve come up behind her, arms sliding around her waist and his chin resting on her head. Obviously he’d had the same thoughts, the same anger.

She ran her fingers along the seam. “Does it hurt?”

Bucky shook his head and caught her hand, bringing it up to kiss her fingers. “No,” he said softly. “But there’s no feeling there, so don’t spend too much time on them.”

“Got it.” She leaned in again and he met her kiss with enthusiasm. She let her hands roam him, ignoring the scarred areas for more interesting terrain. Behind her, Steve’s hands went to the zipper of her dress, tugging it down. Bucky helped him peel it off her, letting it puddle to the floor. Then he broke the kiss to lean back and watch as Steve undid her bra and let that drop as well.

Steve’s hands flattened on her belly as Bucky’s came up to cup her breasts. The sensation of four hands one her - one metal and oddly arousing in its foreignness - short circuited something in her head. She moaned softly and for a few minutes could only feel as Bucky shaped her breasts and tugged her nipples and Steve petted her stomach and stroked her legs. 

Bucky leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth the same moment Steve slid one big hand under the waistband of her underwear. His fingers stroked through the tangle of curls between her thighs, gliding easily against her folds. Reaching back with one arm, she wrapped it around his neck, sinking the other hand into Bucky’s hair.

“You should feel how wet she is, Buck,” Steve rumbled, stroking her lightly, teasing her without touching anywhere she wanted him to. “Probably been like this since the chat in the kitchen.

She and Bucky groaned in unison. His right hand came up and cupped her through the panties, where Steve’s fingers were moving. She deliberately ground against the both of them, seeking more stimulation.

“What do you want, honey?” Bucky whispered against her skin.

“You. Bed. Pants off,” she got out. As if in reward, Steve slid his hand further down and sank two long fingers into her wet heat.

Bucky stumbled away from them and sat hard on the edge of the bed. He went about trying to get his boots off, but seemed to really want to watch what Steve was doing to her as well. Finally, though, he got the boots off and his pants undone, all while watching Steve stroke her into a flushed, panting mess.

When the jeans slid down his erection sprang free. Well, he was certainly enjoying the experience so far. She wasn’t a cock connoisseur by any means, but he looked about as long as Steve if a little thinner. She imagined at this point in their relationship and dick measuring or envy had been dealt with but who knew how adding a third person could shake that up?

He kicked his jeans off and Sharon pulled herself away from Steve, tugging his hand away, though she immediately missed his fingers inside her. Muscles clenched in protest at the void. She stepped forward and kissed Bucky, then slowly lowered to her knees. Breaking the kiss, she nudged his legs apart so she could fit between them. “Okay?” she asked catching his eye. 

At his _very enthusiastic_ nod she grinned and curled her hand around his cock. She stroked it a few times, soft skin sliding easily and heard Steve groan over her shoulder. Then she made a show of licking her lips and lowered her head to take him in her mouth.

His hands sunk into her hair at the first touch of her tongue. The metal one was holding too tightly, individual strands catching between the articulations. She lifted a hand and flicked his wrist with her thumb and forefinger in the universal symbol for “Dude, too tight.” He untangled that hand carefully, using it instead to brace himself on the bed. He loosened his right hand at little as well, which wasn’t necessary, but was thoughtful. She stroked his thigh in thanks and focused on what she was doing.

 Sharon was, generally speaking, a fan of giving blow jobs. It was a quick, easy and relatively painless way to get a guy hot and bothered. And there was something psychologically appealing about having the most fragile and sensitive part of a lover’s body completely at your mercy.

She drew him almost completely out of her mouth, swirled her tongue around the head, before sliding back down. His fingers worked through her hair, sometimes stroking, sometimes gripping, and she took his cues and learned when to suck harder, where to tease with the tip of her tongue.

Behind her, she heard the click and whoosh of a belt being undone, and the subtle sounds of clothing being taken off. She glanced up to see Bucky watching Steve undress and gave a particularly hard pull on the sensitive head of his cock. His hips jerked and he gave a shuddery groan, stroking her hair. “I didn’t forget you, honey.”

She felt the heat of Steve’s body as he kneeled behind her, then his hands stroking her skin again. She closed her eyes, moving against him in time to her strokes. He closed his hands around her under wear and tugged, snapping the elastic and tearing the fabric. Expecting his fingers, she jerked in surprise when she felt the broad head of his cock stroke along her folds. He rubbed her there a moment to get her used to the idea, then notched himself at her entrance and filled her in one smooth stroke.

Now there were two cocks inside her, which was intense and sexy and a little odd but very hot. She sucked hard again and Bucky groaned on her behalf. Steve slid his hands up to cup her breasts and started to move, slow, deep strokes that set off fireworks inside her. Instinctively, she matched her rhythm to his and for a little while she just got lost in the sensations. Hands on her breasts, another in her hair. One cock pleasuring her below, her pleasuring one above. They all blended together, making her feel sexy and naughty and turned on as hell. Above her, she sensed the boys lean forward and heard them kiss. The sounds, the mental image, made her shudder and tighten around Steve’s cock.

Then Steve leaned back, tugged one of her legs out a little and changed his angle, thrusting hard, bottoming out inside her. She had to release Bucky’s erection to gasp. Steve took the opportunity to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her back, so her knees left the floor and she was in his lap, his cock buried deep inside her, legs splayed wide over his.

He kissed her shoulder, her throat, mouth open to taste her skin, and began to move. Short, deep thrusts of his hips, that had her whimpering at the friction and intensity. Bucky slid off the bed to kneel as well, watching them with dark, hooded eyes. He reached out with his right hand, stroking warm fingers along her belly. Stopping just above her hair he kissed her and whispered, “Okay?”

“Fuck, yes,” she gasped. They both laughed, low and rumbly. Then he slid his fingers down and found her clit, swirling around it. She moaned and he caught the sound in his mouth, kissing her again while Steve mouthed at her throat. Bucky and Steve kissed and she nuzzled at their throats and jaws, wherever she could reach.

She lost track of time, of everything but their bodies, moving in harmony and the intense, fiery pleasure building up inside her. It twisted and tightened, making her jerk against Bucky’s hand and clench around Steve’s cock.

Steve sucked the lobe of her ear between his teeth. “Are you close, baby?”

Nodding, she found herself clutching at Bucky’s shoulders, rocking her hips. “Yes. God yes. Coming, I’m coming.” She thrust down hard and it poured through her, making her shudder and throb and whimper. It was intense and consuming and just perfect.

 As it passed, she slumped forward into Bucky’s arms. He wrapped them around her as Steve thrust into her hard a few more times before stilling and pouring his own release into her.

The boys gave her a few moments to bliss out and catch her breath, then helped her up onto the bed. She sprawled out onto her back and Bucky joined her, laying on her right while Steve knelt by his legs and finished with his mouth what she’d started with hers. She watched for a minute or two. His blonde head moving on Bucky’s cock was almost as sexy as when he went down on her.

She glanced up at Bucky’s face, found him with his head thrown back, eyes closed, tendons corded in his throat. She wanted to kiss him, to join in the fun again. But maybe he needed this moment to himself, just him and Steve.

This was supposed to be about the three of them, though. He could ask for space if he needed it and he hadn’t. So she rolled over and kissed his shoulder in warning. Before she could ask permission for more, he turned his head and caught her mouth with his in a rough, frantic kiss. His flesh and bone hand sunk into her hair and the metal one flattened on her back, hauling her up against him.

Gasping at the intensity of it, she cupped his face, draping herself on his chest to get closer to him. His metal hand slid down her back, squeezing her ass before skimming down between her legs. Two fingers sunk into her, hard and metal and a little cooler than the slick, hot flesh closing around them. She moaned softly against his mouth, hips rocking down to take him deeper.

“Can you come again?” he mumbled, nuzzling the corner of her mouth. She nodded, too out of breath to speak, and he started to move his fingers, fucking her with them. She heard Steve groan, the sound muffled by Bucky’s cock and they both shifted a little, so he could have a better view.

She went back to kissing Bucky as he stroked her and Steve appeared to channel his own arousal into his blow job. She reached down to stroke his hair, digging her fingers in the way she would if her were going down on her. For a minute or two she felt in perfect harmony with both of them, the way she had on the floor. They were a unit, partners, they same as any other in sync lovers were.

Then Bucky’s fingers sped up and he whispered, “Close. Come with me, honey.” She rocked back on his hand, her own fingers tightening in Steve’s hair. And just as she started to clench in orgasm, he arched up into Steve’s mouth, whole body shuddering. They swallowed each others cries.

He slowly relaxed back on the bed, easing his fingers out of her. She shifted back so she was laying next to him and Steve climbed up to sprawl out on Bucky’s other side. They were all silent, panting for breath and slowly coming down from their highs.

Then Bucky broke the silence. “Sharon gets points for style, but I think Steve wins for enthusiasm.”

She laughed out loud and Steve chuckled, obliging her with a high five when she held her palm out. He kissed Bucky’s cheek. “So you’re all right then?”

“I’m just great, Rogers.”

Steve looked across Bucky at her. “Sharon? You okay?”

She loved that he was checking in. She supposed this would be the time for guilt or other awkwardness to sink in. “Never better. Possibly literally.” The boys both laughed and the three of them lapsed into silence again.

After a while she rolled out of bed and darted to the bathroom to clean herself up a bit. It seemed prudent to pop a couple of Advil as well, to help with any upcoming soreness. She didn’t look any different in the mirror. No tattoo on her forehead declaring she’d participated in a threesome. Just the usual flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. She briefly contemplated a fast shower, but she was wiped out and didn’t want to sleep with wet hair, so she went back out to the bedroom.

The boys had rearranged themselves, getting under the covers. Bucky was now on Steve’s side of the bed, with Steve in almost the exact middle, leaving a good amount of room for her. They had been murmuring to each other, but stopped when she came out. Bucky looked uncertain. “I can go back to my room. . .”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to her, though, admittedly, neither had the logistics of three adults sharing a king bed. Still, she shook her head. “Of course not.” 

Steve grinned widely at her as she crossed the room and climbed into her side of the bed. He wrapped his arm around her, tugging her into his side so her head rested on his shoulder. “I love you,” he told her, kissing her gently, then turned his head and repeated the words and kiss with Bucky. “This might be the happiest I’ve ever been.”

She and Bucky engaged an indulgent look and kissed his cheeks in unison before resettling. She reached out hesitantly for Bucky’s hand where it lay on Steve’s chest and he immediately wove his fingers with hers. And that was how they all fell asleep, tangled together in whatever way they could.

Morning was a little awkward, but only because they were all a little sore and sweaty from sleeping on top of each other. After untangling, they all dressed. Sharon finally got her shower and went out to the kitchen to find the boys had started the coffee and were cooking eggs. Steve was chopping fruit. There was nothing for her to do, so she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat.

When everyone had some food and caffeine in them she offered, “So, that seemed to go well.” Bucky snorted a laugh and Steve grinned like he was the cat who caught the canary. She shook her head at them and continued, “Does anyone have any issues or questions they want to bring up?”

There was a beat of silence and Bucky asked, “Are we still going to do. . . two person sex? Or is it always going to be like that?”

It was hard to tell from his tone which way he wanted that question to go. Sharon thought perhaps it was honestly just curiosity. “If you two want alone time or I’m not feeling well or I’m gone I’m fine with it. I’d like to be asked, though, especially if you’ve not got your heart set on just being the two of you.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “I suppose I feel the same. I’d rather be with you than left out. But I respect that you might want to have couple time as well.”

“And if you two ever wanted to be together without me,” Steve said. “I’d be all right with that.”

She and Bucky exchanged matching, vaguely panicked expressions. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that,” she said slowly and he nodded his agreement. “But good to know.”

“Take pictures though,” Steve added.

Bucky reached over and socked him in the arm. “Dirty old man.”


	8. Chapter 8

_February, 2017_

Spring started making vague, not particularly enthusiastic attempts at appearing as February wore on. Sharon had always thought it was rather ironic that the greyest, most depressing month was the one that had Valentine’s day smack in the middle of it. They survived the holiday by holing up at home, baking cookies and eating them naked on the living room floor between orgasms. Hallmark and florists could suck it.

She didn’t know if it was the weather or the change in their relationship but both she and Steve noticed that Bucky had started to act. . . restless, for lack of a better word. Not unhappy. He was still affectionate with both of them, eager to spend time with them in and out of the bedroom. But she noticed dips in his mood, especially when her work backed up or Steve had to spend days upstate working with his team. 

One afternoon she got home from an early morning job - political events were starting and all seemed to happen at dawn so they could catch the beginning of the news cycle - to find Steve in the process of calling her.

“You’re here,” he said, sounding relieved.

“I am.” She hung her coat and purse up, shaking sleet out of her hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Bucky’s not here.”

She glanced around the room as if he might be hiding in a corner somewhere. “So?”

He paused. “He’s usually here.”

Don’t laugh. Laughing would be mean. “Well, yes. But he’s not under house arrest. He runs errands and goes for walks. It was pretty mild earlier, maybe he went for a jog. The weather hasn’t been cooperating with outdoor exercise much.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking fidgety. She had a feeling he knew she was making sense but didn’t like it. “He didn’t leave a note.”

Rolling her eyes would be bad, too. She crossed over to the couch and sat, patting the cushion next to her. “We didn’t know if you’d be back today,” she said, rubbing his head. “We generally don’t leave notes for each other unless we’ll be gone for dinner.”

He huffed out a breath, but leaned into her touch. “I see you’re the cool girlfriend in this relationship.”

“A little.” She kissed his temple. “I know you worry about him. But he’s been doing really well. The panic attacks are coming less and he’s interacting with people when we go out. You should be happy.”

“He’s been unhappy lately.”

“I know.” The restlessness had been particularly bad, thought she certainly wasn’t going to say that to him. “But if he’s going out maybe he’s putting effort into fixing that. We should support that.”

Steve sighed again, then nuzzled at her throat. “You’re good at unwinding me.”

“Because I’m the cool girlfriend.”

She kept stroking his hair and back and his buried his face in her skin. His hands started to wander over the silk blouse and wool suit pants she wore. “Did you two fool around while I was gone?” he murmured.

Much as they all enjoyed being together - and they made a point of regularly checking in with each other that that was true - she and Bucky still had one line they hesitated to cross. It was entirely psychological, on both their parts, but they hadn’t managed to have good old fashioned penis in vagina sex. Not with Steve and not alone. 

They did, however, enjoy a lot of other things. Things Steve _loved_ to hear about.

“We did,” she told him, letting her own hand slide down to find where his t-shirt had ridden up so she could stroke bare skin. “Right here on this couch.”

Steve groaned and one big hand cupped her sex, through her slacks and underwear. “Tell me.”

“It was late. I’d worked and was tired but wanted to unwind a little before going to bed, so I sat with him while he watched one of those terrible sci fi movies he likes.” Steve started kissing and nibbling on her neck. “It started out as just kissing, sort of sleepy and comfortable. Then he unhooked my pants and started touching me.”

He groaned again and his hand started to move, massaging her clit and dampening sex through the fabric. She knew there were men in the world that got off on the idea of their partner cheating on them and then telling them about it. This wasn’t like that. This was Steve getting aroused at the idea of the two people he loved the most enjoying themselves with each other. It was specific to her and Bucky. And she was happy to indulge him.

She moved a hand down to curl over the bulge forming in his jeans. Stroking it through the denim, she continued, “He slid two fingers inside - metal ones. Do you think he knows how hot I find his metal fingers?” He arched into her hand but didn’t respond. “And he started fucking me with them. Really slow.”

Steve’s thumb had started pawing at the clasp to her slacks when the front door opened and Bucky appeared in the doorway of the living room. “Steve you’re back!” he said, obviously delighted. “And you started without me,” he added in mock dismay.

“I was telling him all the things we did on this couch two nights ago,” Sharon said, squeezing Steve’s cock through his pants. “You want to help?”

Bucky grinned. He was an even better dirty storyteller than she was. “Yes. But first, I have news.” He paused for effect. “I got a job.”

This was big and surprising enough they both sat up, foreplay forgotten. “You did?” Steve said.

At the same time, Sharon clapped her hands and said, “That’s great!”

“How?” Steve asked after the initial shock wore off.

“I decided to go out and get some coffee, but the cafe was packed, so I figured I’d wander a bit and find a back up. And a couple blocks over, near that group of bars that always seem to be closed but never go out of business, I see this woman getting harassed by a guy. And not, like, unwanted cat calling harassed. He’s up in her face and calling her all those words Sharon refuses to use in regards to her bits.” Steve snorted and she shook her head at him. “And I’m thinking he’s an inch away from punching her. She looks pretty together, but he’s got at least six inches ant eighty pounds on her. So I march across the street to have a word with him.”

“Isn’t that Steve’s schtick?” she asked, getting a glare from Steve and a smirk from Bucky.

“Who do you think I learned if from?” Bucky asked. “Anyway, he’s one of those bullies that doesn’t know what to do with someone their size. He claims he’s her boyfriend and she cheated, she calmly informs him they fucked once, two months ago and he needed to move on. So I make it clear that if he starts something I’ll finish it and that perhaps it’s time to take the lady’s advice. He slinks off and I offer to walk her wherever she was going to make sure he doesn’t follow. She accepts and we walk about half a mile to a place I’d never noticed.”

“Is this the part where she steals your kidney?” Steve asked.

“Shut up. We get there, I say goodbye and she asks if I’d like a position protecting her all the time. So I start trying to explain that I have a boyfriend - Sorry Shar, it seemed a better way to go, cut off any suggestion at the pass, you know?”

She waved a hand in dismissal, oddly touched he’d thought it would upset her to be left out. They had come a long way. “No, no. Makes sense.”

He grinned at her and nodded. “Anyway, she laughed and said no, she meant a real job. She runs a burlesque show and they were in need of a good bouncer. It’s four nights a week, eight to two and she said she was fine with paying me under the table since I didn’t have paperwork.”

“Did she ask why?”

Bucky shook his head. “Asked if I was a con and I said no. Asked if I’d bring trouble to her club and I said no. That was enough for her.”

“Probably things you’re an illegal immigrant or something,” Sharon said. “Did she want references?”

“Not specifically, but said my boyfriend would be welcome to come visit, even if it wouldn’t do anything for him. I got the feeling it was her way of requesting a little proof.”

Sharon bounced a little. “We should both go.” The boys stared at her. “What? Burlesque shows are awesome. It’s as much about athleticism as nudity.”

Steve shook his head a little, though she noticed his hand had made its way back to her lap. “Are you sure about this, Buck?”

He crossed to come sit with them, dropping onto the couch on the other side of Sharon, where there was more room. “You guys have been great. I know you’d take care of me forever if I let you. But I need to feel like I’m contributing somehow. And not just as a cook and dishwasher. It won’t be a ton of money, but I’ll be able to help with the utilities and groceries at least, if not the mortgage. And have my own money for personal stuff or presents.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll hate it, or won’t be able to handle it. But I want to try. I think. . . it’s important.”

“Then I’m very happy for you,” Steve said, easily and sincerely, reaching behind her to clap him on the shoulder.

“We both are,” she added, leaning in to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “I know you’ll be great.”

He gave them both a grateful smile. “Thanks. And I know it if doesn’t work out you two have my back. It’s why I have the guts to try.”

She heard Steve swallow hard behind her and knew he was as touched as she was at the sentiment. It was one of those things that intellectually and instinctively, they all knew. But it was another thing entirely to hear it said out loud. She leaned forward to hug Bucky and Steve wrapped his arms around both of them for one big, group hug.

 When they’d parted, Bucky’s smile turned a little wicked and he tugged her closer. “Now,” he said, fingers flicking open the fastening of her slacks with ease. “How about instead of _telling_ Steve what we did we show him?” Cool metal slid beneath her underwear, seeking her heat. “Lean back, Stevie. Watch me take our girl apart.”

And the funny thing was, despite the numerous orgasms they drove her to that afternoon, Sharon’s favorite part was when he called her “our girl.”

*

_March, 2017_

It took them a few weeks to find a good night to visit Bucky’s work. Sharon had work, then Steve, then they had a little drama at the club. He came home with awesome stories, and was clearly making friends, who were in turn demanding to meet his boy friend.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Steve asked as they walked to the club. “Being the third wheel?”

Sharon let go of his hand long enough to fidget her skirt down again. It was really too chilly for the fake leather mini skirt she’d decided to wear. But it was a burlesque club, dressing up a little seemed appropriate. She’d topped it with an almost sheer red shell and Bucky’s leather jacket, scraping her hair back into a high ponytail. Steve’s eyes had bugged out a bit when he’d seen her, so the outfit was doing something right. 

“Look, one of us is always going to have to be the third wheel in public,” she said, weaving her fingers back into his. “Usually it’s Bucky. This time it’s me. I don’t think it’s fair, but that’s the world we live in. And I’m sure I’ll have a good time regardless.”

“You think any of them will recognize me?”

Steve was naturally cautious about letting it be known that Captain America had gay tendencies. She and Bucky tried to tell him that in normal clothes in a different context, he didn’t really look like the guy on the news. In his current outfit of faded jeans, oversized sweater and bit of scruff it was even less noticeable. “Not enough to be certain. Bucky said photography isn’t allowed in the club and the dancers are his friends. I think even if they did suspect, they’d be discreet.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look entirely convinced. They let go of each other’s hands as they reached the club and paid their cover to the doorman.

Inside was dim, walls lined with faux gas sconces. There was a wide semi-circular stage front and center, with a collection of maybe thirty tables in front of it. Bucky and two other security guys flanked the stage. He gave them a little nod when he spotted them and they found a table about a third of the way back from the stage, on Bucky’s side.

“He looks very intimidating, doesn’t he?” she whispered to Steve after a very bubbly waitress with full sleeve tattoos had taken their order.

“Don’t start,” he grumbled.

She grinned at him and leaned back. This was going to be fun.

And it was. The show was high energy and equal parts sexy and hilarious. The theme was historical periods (Bucky said the show theme changed every three or four months) and it had everything from naughty French royalty to bawdy knights and maidens. There were three very dexterous flappers that had Steve squirming in his seat. Bucky caught Sharon’s eye during that and winked and she grinned. 

When it was over and the crowd had started to thin, he came over to get them. “Hey, Delilah and the girls want to meet you. Said you could come backstage.”

“Buck, I don’t know-”

Sharon leaned over and nipped Steve’s ear. “Anticipation,” she told him, then tugged his arm to get him to stand.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky said, taking his other arm. “We’ll make it worth your while.”

Delilah was the club owner. She was a pretty, petite brunette a few inches shorter than Sharon, with a septum piercing and gauges in her ears. Bucky introduced Steve as his boyfriend and she grinned and shook his hand enthusiastically. “It’s really nice to meet you. We’ve heard lots of flattering stuff. You’ve got Bucky here hooked.”

Steve looked flustered but pleased. “Well, thank you. It’s mutual, I assure you.”

Then Bucky reached over and tugged Sharon closer and said, “And this is our girlfriend, Sharon.”

Years of spy training kept the polite smile on her face. Which was good, because Delilah just clapped her hands and grinned wider. “Oh, gods aren’t you the sweetest little triad. I love it.”

Sharon reached out to shake her hand, trying to formulate a response when Steve said in a surprised and intrigued voice, “There’s a word for it?”

Delilah laughed. “So you’re new to the poly scene, then?”

“It sort of happened to us,” Sharon said, reaching out to slide an arm around Steve’s waist. “Long story.”

“I’d love to hear it sometime. Not now, I’ve got dancers to praise and books to balance. But yes, that’s the generally accepted term for when a couple becomes a trio. At least as a permanent set-up.”

Funny, it had never occurred to Sharon that there could be a name for it. She had assumed there had to be other people like them and she’d done a little bit of online poking when they’d first begun. But she hadn’t done any deep digging into the lifestyle, so to speak. Maybe she should. In this day and age there were probably whole communities of people like them. It might be nice to have others to talk to about it, compare notes so to speak. There were certain things unique to having two partners and a support network would be nice.

Delilah had to go do owner stuff, but invited them back any time. Bucky took them around to meet a few of the performers, introducing them the same way. No one batted and eye at the arrangement and all of them greeted them enthusiastically. When they met Gilly, one of the flappers, Sharon asked her if she could show her how she’d done a particular leg lift, which caused Steve to groan and bury his face in Bucky’s shoulder, to the amusement of the collected performers.

All in all, they spent about an hour backstage, putting faces to all the names from Bucky’s stories. It was obvious that they liked him as much as he seemed to like and feel protective of him. Sharon found herself very happy that he’d found the odd little family that seemed to work here. And that they were so accepting of her and Steve.

They waited until Bucky was officially off duty, then all three of them walked home together. The sense of arousal and anticipation grew as they walked. All three of them were certainly feeling it, but Steve seemed to be affected the most. Sharon wondered sometimes if, because he had his public persona, he worked the hardest to contain himself in public.

Whatever the case, a wound up Steve meant a good time for all, so she and Bucky spent the walk tormenting him with comments.

“Wouldn’t that be a good alley to duck into and have me go down on you?”

“This car would be the perfect height to bend Sharon over, Stevie.”

“I bet I’m strong enough to hold myself up on that branch while you fucked me against that tree.”

By the time they reached the brown stone he was damn near growling at the both of them. Sharon was waiting for him to sling them both over his shoulders and sprint the rest of the way there. They managed to get up the front steps and unlock the door with dignity. Even peeling off their outerwear was done more or less normally. But then it was just a blur of hands and mouths and clothes being tugged up and off or torn.

They made a valiant effort to get to the bedroom, but she still found herself two-thirds of the way up the steps, Bucky behind her and Steve below her. He’d hiked her leather skirt up, yanked her panties down and now had his face buried between her legs. Bucky had her pressed against him, back to his chest and was holding her thighs out and up, keeping her spread wide and exposed to Steve’s mouth. Occasionally, he would slide his hands up and spread her folds open so Steve’s tongue could get direct contact with her clit or thrust inside her.

And he whispered to her, breath hot against her cheek, as if he were the one going down on her. He had in the past, so when he told her how good she tasted and how hot she was and the way she twitched and pulsed when she was close to coming, she knew it was fact and not just idle talk. Steve was going at her in an effort to cool his own arousal. He liked to pour himself into one of them, distracting himself so he could last longer. Bucky was doing it to keep them all wound up. She knew with Steve’s serum enhanced hearing he could hear every word that was whispered.

She was starting to shake, balanced on a fine edge as Steve sucked hard on her clit, tongue flickering rapidly. She moaned and tried to arch into his mouth.

“Are you close?” Bucky asked, holding her right where she was.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, yes.”

He kissed her ear, her jaw, the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her throat. “You have to tell me. I can’t feel you or taste you so you have to say it.”

She shook her head. Steve did something harder or faster or more. Or maybe she just couldn’t handle it anymore. But she felt it start to crest and gasped out, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Oh, God, Bucky, I’m coming.”  
 He held her tightly as she shuddered and arched and Steve licked and petted her through it. It made it all more intense. She felt every clench, every pulse as his tongue moved against her lazily.

When she’d calmed, Steve kissed her gently and moved up to kiss Bucky, sharing the taste of her with him. Then Bucky whispered something in his ear and he groaned. The two of them lifted her up to her feet and she was surprised to find them functional. They shed the last of their clothes as they stumbled the rest of the way to the bedroom. Her shirt was probably ripped beyond repair, but she made a point of taking her bra off herself so it would survive.

Steve flopped onto the bed, sprawling on his back and she all but pounced on him, kissing him deep enough to taste herself on his tongue. He groaned, sinking his hands into her hair and devouring her mouth the way he had her sex. She was completely focused on him, to the point of losing track of Bucky. Then she felt Steve arch and moan and lifted her head to see what was going on.

Bucky had gone to his room, apparently, and grabbed lube and condoms. He was now carefully stroking between Steve’s cheeks, getting him ready. That, she supposed, was what he’d whispered just to Steve on the stairs.

After their first few times together she’d asked, feeling awkward and kind of naive, why they hadn’t had any anal sex in front of her. They’d explained - well, mostly Bucky because saying certain sex things still made Steve blush when not in the bedroom - that while they enjoyed it, it could be a bit of a production. They tended to go with oral or hands on an average night, saving it for special occasions, for want of a better word. And especially with her in the mix, the other options were so varied they hadn’t bothered with it.

She supposed tonight was sort of a special occasion. Their first experience being “out” in public.

Reaching down, she stroked Steve’s stomach, just about his straining cock. “How can I help.”

Bucky grinned crookedly. “Keep him relaxed and distracted.”

She winked at him. “I can do that.” She turned back to Steve and leaned over to kiss him again. He cupped her face, tongue stroking against her, delving deep into her mouth.  
 “Are you okay with this?” he whispered when they broke for air.

Down at the foot of the bed, she could sense Bucky tensing a little, even as he still worked on Steve. Her poor boys. She bent and kissed Steve’s jaw, ran her tongue along the corded tendon in his throat. “I’m looking forward to riding you while he fucks you,” she said, loud enough for Bucky to hear too. She wasn’t even certain if the mechanics of that would work, but it was apparently the right thing to say because both of them groaned. Bucky made a little appreciative noise and Steve arched.

Sharon went back to kissing him, distracting him from whatever Bucky was doing. Steve’s hands roamed her, teasing and tugging her nipples. Rocking up, she moved so he could take one in his mouth while he cupped and shaped the other breast. She heard Bucky moving around behind her, but focused in on Steve. His abs flexed and relaxed under her hand and and one point she felt teeth on her breast, then the bed started to rock in a gentle, familiar rhythm.

“Hey, honey,” Bucky said, voice thick in a way that was also familiar. She wasn’t entirely sure which of them she was talking to until he added, “I think there’s a prick back here could use a rider.” 

She looked over her shoulder to find him rocking slowly, holding Steve’s legs spread up and out, much the way he’d held hers on the stairs. She watched him a moment, surprised at the rush of heat she felt at the sight. Then her gaze caught on Steve’s erection, long and straight as a rod, the broad head flushed red and slick with pre-come.

Gently, tugging her breast out of his mouth, she bent to kiss Steve’s temple. “Would you like that, baby?” she asked, wanting to tease him just a bit more.

“Fuck. Me,” he growled. 

This was, quite possibly, the most wound she’d ever seen him. She moved back and, using Bucky’s shoulder to balance herself, she swung a leg over Steve’s hips. She was so wet there was no resistance at all as she slid down his length. It was probably just her imagination, but she swore he felt bigger and thicker inside her.

She hadn’t been sure the position would work, and maybe if any of them had been built differently it wouldn’t, but everything seemed to fit together perfectly. It took her a moment to balance herself and move, but once she did, she moved in tandem with Bucky, working together to keep Steve constantly stimulated. Once she got her rhythm she was able to hook her arms under Steve’s knees, holding his legs out of the way for Bucky. Had he tried to fight her at all it would have sent her flying. But she was helping to keep him where he wanted to be, so it was easy. It even helped brace her so she could move faster and take him harder.

And the very best part was it freed Bucky’s hands to touch her. He cupped her breasts, skimmed her belly and swirled patterns around her clit. Steve opened his eyes to watch and his hips started to move. He did love to see them together.

It was oddly too much. The feel of him inside her, the heat of Bucky at her back and his rocking. She was aroused, stimulated, but there was too much else going on to focus on her own pleasure. So she focused on Steve’s and went along for the ride.

She knew him well enough to recognize the signs he was close. So she leaned back against Bucky, changing her angle and murmured, “I can feel him twitching, I think he’s about to come.”

Bucky bent to kiss her mouth, then nipped her throat. “Good. Tip him over, honey.”

His hands resettled on her breasts and she rode hard. Bucky’s hips snapped a little faster as well, hard enough she could feel Steve rock beneath her. He thrust up into her, made a deep guttural noise and cursed. Then she felt the heat of his release fill her. Bucky moaned and buried himself inside Steve, hands tightening on her breasts so hard the left one was bruised for over a week. He slumped against her back and she braced her hands on Steve’s chest to hold them both up.

She was panting, turned on as hell, and not entirely sure what to do. She wasn’t sure Steve was still conscious. To her relief, Bucky stirred and took his weight off her, kissing the back of her shoulder. “I think you should get up first, honey.”

Gingerly, she eased her leg over and rolled off of Steve, managing not to kick Bucky or pull any muscles. He eased himself out and went to the bathroom to clean up and dispose of the condom.

Steve stirred enough to reach out and pat her. “You didn’t come,” he mumbled.

“I’m surprised you noticed,” she told him, catching his hand and kissing his knuckles.

Bucky returned with a couple of wash cloths and proceeded to clean Steve up a bit. “Everything okay?”

“Sharon didn’t come,” Steve told him, sounding a bit like he was tattling. He looked over at her. “Was it not . . . were you-?”

She shook her head. “No it was just. . . too much. Visually, physically. I couldn’t focus on myself long enough to make it happen.” She didn’t know if that happened to men but they both seemed to understand, at least enough to not interrogate her any further.

After finishing with Steve, Bucky tossed the used washcloth towards the bath room and brought the other over to her. It was damp and warm and slightly rough as he ran it up one thigh, then the other. She closed her eyes in anticipation just before he stroked it over her swollen folds.

Steve rolled closer and wrapped her in his arms, not trying anything, just for the connection. She leaned her head against his and inhaled his scent as Bucky stroked and massaged her with the cloth. To her surprise, the gentle, indirect touch was exactly what she needed. In moments she was shuddering, gasping into Steve’s hair as heat poured through her.

She drifted a bit while Bucky tossed the other washcloth into the bathroom and climbed into bed, curling on her opposite side and reaching across her to settle a hand on Steve’s hip. It was late, she was sated and drained. And so she drifted to sleep, cuddled between her boys, perfectly content.


	9. Chapter 9

_June 2017_

“I don’t know why snowbirds fly south for the winter. It’s the summer heat I’d like to avoid.”

Sharon smiled down at Angie. “I suppose you could fly to Alaska in the summer.”

“Eh, I hear the sun stays up all day in the summer there. How would I get my beauty sleep?”

This time it was a fundraiser for a children’s theater program and Angela Martin was the guest of honor. Sharon had been introduced as her “companion” which had made her think of Doctor Who and hide a smile. She was fairly certain her presence here had nothing to do with security and she was more or less Angie’s date. But as the old woman was good company and her flirting far more refined then most men she dealt with, she wasn’t going to complain. Besides, there were children at this children’s theater so it would be over at a decent hour and she could get home to her boys. Bucky would be working, but no one had plans tomorrow so they could stay up as long as they liked.

The kids did a production of Where the Wild Things Are that was honestly adorable without being grating. Sharon had sat through enough plays and recitals for her nieces and nephews to appreciate that. Angie went through and met all the little actors and told them how well they had done. 

“Did you ever have kids, Angie?” she asked as they drove home.

“No, not really. I mentored a few young things in my time. And not in the way you’re thinking.” Sharon tossed a grin at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you thinking of having some with that mysterious boyfriend of yours?”

Good God, talk about impossible things. She didn’t know how that would work, or what Steve and Bucky would think of it. But for a second all she could think of was a little blonde baby with the blue eyes of one of her boys and it made her happy and sad at the same time.

All she said was, “No plans for that yet.”

“Well, if you do I can get them into an acting workshop cheap.”

She pulled up in front of the house and climbed out, coming around to open the door for Angie and holding her arm. “This was fun,” Sharon said. “As always.”

“You’re delightful company, Sharon.” She unlocked her front door. “Come in one moment, I have something for you.”

“Angie,” she protested, stepping into the grand entrance hall. “You don’t need to get me anything.”

“It says on your website that tips are acceptable,” she called back from whatever parlor or hallway she’d wandered to. She came back a moment later with something wrapped in a velvet bag similar to the kind jewelry came in, only big enough to hold a volleyball.

She handed it to Sharon with an enigmatic smile. It took a little balancing but Sharon managed to tug the velvet down enough to reveal the crystal pyramid she’d admired at the charity auction. “Oh my God. This - I can’t believe you got this.”

“Art should be owned by those who will love it. And nice people deserve nice things.”

If this was a tip it was the first one worth five digits that Sharon had ever received. And that wasn’t even getting into the personal and sentimental attachment she had to it. Tears pricked at her eyes and she reached out with one arm to hug Angie. “Thank you so much for this.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” She hugged her with surprising strength.

“Let me give you my number,” Sharon said when they parted. “I’d be happy to come to these events with you. You don’t have to keep going through the agency.”

After giving Angie her contact information Sharon said her goodbyes. She waited on the porch until she heard the locks engage and then headed out to the sidewalk, pyramid tucked under her arm, to hail a cab. She didn’t want to fight anyone on the subway over her new art piece.

The house was empty when she got there, to her dismay. Steve had left a note on the fridge. The team had been called to help with a mine cave-in in South America. Between him, Wanda and Rhodey digging and Sam helping with triage and medical aid, it should be a straight forward mission, if a long night for all concerned. Disappointment made her shoulders slump a bit. Bucky had already left for work, so she’d be on her own till after two in the morning.

Trying to find somewhere to put the pyramid entertained her for a while. It was too wide for the mantle and seemed far too nice for any of their end tables. After a little rearranging, she found a spot for it on a bookshelf. It caught the light of a floor lamp, glittering prettily.

She ate, showered and was in bed before one with her reading lamp and a book. One would think that in a relationship with three people it would be a relief to have some time alone. But Sharon had always been social and she missed having another heartbeat in the house. 

Around two thirty, she heard the front door open and shut and the heavy plod of Bucky’s footsteps in the stairs. He poked his head in the door. “No Steve?”

“Mission. He thought he’d be back tomorrow.”

His face fell a little. “Oh. Well. I should head to bed then.”

“You don’t- you’re welcome to stay in here.” She tugged the covers back to emphasize the point. He hesitated a moment, then slid silently into the room. He seemed nervous, so she turned back to her book as he shed his boots, shirt and jeans. When he slid in next to her he was in only his boxers. 

She was sitting up and when he settled next to her he rested his head on his ribs, looping an arm around her hips. Shifting her book to one hand, she tangled her fingers in his hair and stroked. He was tense and seemed out of sorts, so once he’d had a little time to decompress, she asked, “Something happen tonight?”

“Not - I don’t know. A guy came in - nice guy, polite, didn’t give anybody any trouble - but he was wearing this cologne and when I smelled it. . . I don’t know, it brought up bad things.”

She let her hair stroking wander down to pet his shoulder and back. “Triggers come in all shapes and sizes. One of your handlers could have worn that scent, or one of the lab techs. It could even had just smelled like a place you went as the Soldier and it stirred up those memories. Scent is the strongest connection to memory we have.”

He nodded and turned his head, nuzzling his nose into her belly. It was summer and already hot, so she’d gone to bed naked. He pressed a little kiss into her skin. “Your smell is comforting,” he murmured. “It used to be just Steve’s.”

She thought about Steve’s summer wood’s scent and Bucky’s bite of winter and asked, “What do I smell like?”

He seemed to think about it a moment, dropping little kisses along the underside of her rib cage. “Like autumn. Spice and late blooming flowers. Burnt sugar and leaves drying.”

It made her smile, tipping her head back against her pillows. After all, what was summer and winter without the fall to bridge them?

“I’ve never thanked you,” he said, looking up at her. “The more I’m out in the world and meet people I realize - you had every reason to freak out when you found me and Steve kissing. You could have kicked me out or broken up with Steve or made him swear never to touch me again.”

“No, I couldn’t,” she said quietly, twining his hair around her fingers. “You were special to Steve and you needed him. It was hard, and I do wish you’d both been honest with me from the start. But I have no regrets.”

His hand cupped her hip and stroked her thigh. “None?”

“No.” She was starting to grow hot and liquid at his touch and the intense way he was looking at her. “I remember thinking that Steve got different things from us. That we filled different needs for him. Now I think we all fill different needs for each other. I really can’t imagine life without you in it.” She swallowed, then took a leap and added, “I love you.”

He had been wandering down her abdomen as she spoke, but at those words he looked up at her. His eyes were stark and intense and his voice caught when he said, “I love you, too, Sharon.”

They held each other’s gazes for the space of a few heartbeats. It had been true a long time, probably for both of them. But they both tended to shy away from their connection to each other. They had come together through Steve and acknowledging the bond between them that didn’t include him seemed a huge, momentous thing. But now that it was out it seemed kind of silly to have avoided it so long.

Bucky gave her a crooked smile, shifting to slide both hands down her legs. They were going to have sex, she realized. Just the two of them. And that would be the last of the artificial limits between the three of them. Her body clenched in anticipation.

He tugged her legs open and dipped his head, running his tongue along the seam of her sex. She moaned and let her head tip back, burying her fingers in his hair. He teased her, opened her up and drew out all that liquid heat he’d been building. Steve did this like it was a filthy, delicious sex act, like he could spend all night down there. Bucky definitely used it as an appetizer, an indulgence for them both.

So she relaxed into it, lifting up to his tongue and humming in pleasure when he sucked. And when she was slick and panting and more than ready, he lifted his head, grabbed her thighs and tugged her down so she was laying flat beneath him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held his gaze as he slowly slunk into her.

His eyes fluttered shut as she closed around him and he bowed his head to rest his forehead on hers. “God that’s good,” he mumbled.

Sharon laughed a little, because it was true and not just physically - though that was nice. It felt good to be like this with him. She didn’t feel any of the things she’d worried about feeling. No guilt that it wasn’t Steve, no awkwardness, no sense of wrongness at it being just the two of them. They loved each other, as much as they loved Steve. This was just an excellent way of showing it.

She wrapped her legs around him and he seemed to recover from the initial swell of sensation. He moved slow at first, getting used to her and watching her reactions. It was nice and the friction was almost perfect. But she needed more.

Sinking her hand into his hair, she tugged lightly. “Fuck me, baby.”

He grinned and shifted, bracing himself on his hands so he loomed above her. His hips started to pump faster, rocking her with the force of his thrusts. She hissed air out through her teeth and threw her head back, lifting up to meet each stroke. Pleasure spiraled and drew taunt, then snapped, clenching her around him, shaking her whole body.

“Jesus, Sharon. _Fuck_ ” He buried himself completely and ground against her. She felt the heat of his come spread inside her and her hips lifted instinctively in an echo of pleasure.

They tangled together for a while, fingers lightly stroking whatever skin they could find. When he’d grown soft enough to slip out of her, he rolled over off of her and stretched. “I love you, but it’s hot and we finally have room to sprawl.”

She laughed, because, yes, room in the bed was a novelty nowadays. She pressed a kiss to his temple and scooted to her side of the bed. “We need a bigger bed.”

“Do they make bigger beds?”

Stretching out an arm she clicked off her bedside lamp. “I’m pretty sure everything can be found on the internet somewhere.”

They fell asleep on their respective sides of the bed, covered in a thin sheet, Bucky’s hand curled over her hip affectionately. Sharon half woke just before dawn to Steve slipping into bed with them and rolled closer to Bucky to make room for him before drifting back off.

She woke hours later, to the room filled with sunlight. She was on her back, pressed between the boys. Steve was quite obviously awake, one hand curled around her thigh, mouth nuzzling at her breast. He must have noticed her breathing change with wakefulness, because he shifted to take her nipple in his mouth.

Sinking a hand into his hair, she whispered, “We missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he mumbled into her skin. He tugged at her thigh and she opened willingly, sighing when his fingers touched her sex. His mouth closed around her nipple again and he licked at it, teasing it till it was hard and peaked. At the same time, he zeroed in on her clit, swirling his fingers around it in wide circles. 

Bucky stirred on her other side and she reached out, stroking her hand along his belly. His breathing changed and he stirred again, so she slid her hand down farther, fingertips skimming along the length of his cock. It twitched to life and his hand came up to cup the breast Steve was ignoring. She smiled and released his cock to dip her hand between her legs, gathering up some of her own moisture. When she wrapped her fingers around him again she was able to stroke easier and he groaned, hips lifting. 

She turned her head towards Bucky and he found her mouth in a rough, urgent kiss. Steve’s fingers sped up, and she dug her fingers harder into his hair. Breaking her kiss with Bucky, she gave him a little wink and he grinned wickedly.

Turning to Steve, she kissed the top of his head and whispered, “Bucky and I had sex last night.”

He groaned and lifted his head from her breast so he could look at them. “You did?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Bucky plucked at her nipple, and she arched into it. For a moment they kissed again, putting on a bit of a show. Steve got so distracted that the fingers on her clit slowed, until he was cupping and massaging her.

“I want to do it again,” she murmured when the kiss broke. She wasn’t entirely sure who she was talking to. 

It was Bucky who answered. “Do you?”

Stroking his cock again she nodded, biting her lip. “Uh-huh. Do you want to fuck me again?”

“All day,” he growled. He glanced over at Steve. “You heard the lady, Rogers. My turn.”

Steve was all but panting with arousal as he leaned back. He moved to the end of the bed so he could watch them and she rolled to face Bucky fully. His right hand sank into her hair and he tugged lightly, angling her head the way he wanted it. The metal hand stroked down her back, cupping her ass hard enough to make her moan.

This was different than the night before, more intense, more explicit. Partially from comfort with each other and partially because Steve was watching. Sharon had zero interest exhibitionism. But there was something about having his gaze on them that fired her up. It must have done the same to Bucky, he certainly delighted in winding up the other man. 

They tangled together, making out like teenagers on prom night. He thrust a thigh between hers and she ground herself against it. Wrapping an arm around her, he shoved himself upright, pulling her with him. His erection was trapped between them, hard and hot and ready. “Turn around,” he murmured, holding her hips. “Let’s give Steve a good show.”

She kissed him, sucking his lower lip. Then she lifted up and turned around, her back to his chest. He framed her hips again and helped her aim, lifting up at she lowered herself. His cock slid home and in one long, smooth stroke she took him to the hilt.

He groaned in her ear and it was damn near a growl. “God you feel good.” He kissed the back of her neck and started to move, thrusting into her in short, deep strokes.

She locked gazes with Steve where he sat at the end of the bed. He had his own cock fisted, the crown red and shiny above his fingers, and was stroking with the same rhythm Bucky was using. His face was flushed, eyes bright, staring at them like he wanted to eat them alive. It was, possibly, the most turned on she’d ever been and the last few months had been full of moments like that.

Turning her head, she kissed Bucky, rocking against him. He obligingly covered her clit with two fingers and stroked it rapidly. For a few moments they just ground against each other, lost in the multitude of sensations. He abandoned her clit to flatten both hands on her abdomen and chest, tipping her forward. The new angle rubbed exactly where she needed and she cried out, reaching out to brace herself against his legs as she shuddered. He cursed and yanked her back, burying himself deep as he came with her.

She was still riding out the back end of her climax, rocking leisurely on Bucky’s cock, sex still throbbing around him, when she realized Steve had moved. She blinked at him, now right in front of her. He and Bucky exchanged a look, then she felt Steve’s hands scoop under her thighs and Bucky’s wrap around her waist. Together, they lifted her up off of Bucky’s softening cock and onto Steve’s rock hard erection.

He slid in deep and her body clenched eagerly around the new intrusion. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, moaning helplessly at the riot of new sensations. He murmured soft, encouraging nonsense and started to move. It took only a few strokes before she was coming again, a second climax riding the heels of the first. It crested and rose and then didn’t seem to stop, keeping her at the same heady level of pleasure, muscles clenching around him as he moved.

She hung onto him, helpless, lost in it, as he supported her weight and thrust hard and fast. Bucky had moved around to kiss Steve as she was too far gone to do much but moan and beg him for more.

She did manage to reach out and tangle a hand in Bucky’s hair. “My boys,” she murmured affectionately. “I do love my boys.” He grinned and kissed her, wrapping his metal arm around Steve’s back.

Steve thrust into her one more time, then shuddered, groaning into her shoulder as he spilling into her.

They all slumped down onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs. Steve was panting like he’d run a marathon and Sharon was still clenching and fluttering. Bucky rubbed their backs, nuzzling and murmuring to them as they calmed.

When he’d caught his breath, Steve stroked her hair and asked, “Do you really think of us as your boys?”

She chuckled and nodded. “Collectively, yes.”

“I think of you two as my blondes,” Bucky offered almost sheepishly. 

After a moment of laughter, Steve said quietly, “You two are my loves.”


	10. Chapter 10

_September, 2017_

The summer was spent working on the house, hammering out all the projects they’d thought of in the winter. They converted the basement into usable living space, so that everyone could spread out if they needed privacy or alone time. Steve started a garden on the roof, starting with kitchen herbs and some bee friendly plants he’d read about in some magazine or another. Sharon helped him with it sometimes, enjoying the sunshine and the smells of lavender and fresh basil.

Her cousin Lottie got married in August, causing series of debates that lasted right up to the RSVP date. To go or not to go. To bring Steve or go alone. If she brought Steve what was Bucky going to do with himself all weekend? There was even a brief but lively tangent about bringing _both_ Steve and Bucky, essentially “outing” herself to her family. Steve was horrified by the idea, certain her family wouldn’t understand and would possibly disown her. Privately, Sharon thought her mother - a proud hippie and self-proclaimed flower child who had attended Woodstock at 17 and remembered none of it - would probably understand, but the wedding of a cousin Sharon barely knew was not the time to break the news. 

In the end, they compromised on all of them going to Virginia Beach for a long weekend. She and Steve attended the wedding, which was very elegant and romantic even if they did have to field about a hundred versions of “So when are you two getting married” over the course of the night. They left after the cake cutting to rejoin Bucky at the hotel to start their vacation together. It was an all around wonderful weekend that gave Sharon an excellent idea. Two ideas, in fact.

The hotel had not had any rooms with king beds, so they’d figured they could make do with two queens. A little ingenuity, a foam wedge and the strength of two super soldiers and they had one huge bed and a world of possibilities. When they’d gone home, their king had seemed very small and crowded. So Sharon had gone to the internet and after some digging and some minor heart attacks at price, she’d found a place in Manhattan that designed and built custom beds.

They spent Labor Day weekend rearranging the bedroom, moving all but one dresser out to the “spare” room to make space for their new oversized bed. Measuring at almost ten foot by seven, it would leave them only a couple feet on either side for walking space and night stands. The company sold custom bottom sheets as well, of which she’d order three. They’d use a patchwork of top sheets, blankets and comforters, as they all preferred different coverage at night. Steve was a furnace who used little more than a sheet and blanket in all but the coldest of weather. Sharon was a burrower who stole the covers to form herself a proper burrito of warmth. Bucky tended to Goldilocks somewhere between them, generally content with whatever he could steal back from the others.

The bed arrived on Wednesday morning and took over an hour to build and install. It took all three of them to stretch the tent-like sheet over the mattress. Then Bucky decided it was his job to test it while Sharon and Steve sorted out the blanket and comforter situation.

 “This was the best idea ever,” Bucky said, laying exactly in the middle of the bed. “I bet two of us could have sex at one end and not disturb the third sleeping at the other.”

“I appreciate that you made that entirely neutral,” she told him, fluffing her pillow and tossing it at him. 

Steve had his side set up and joined Bucky on the bed. “I’m concerned he’s already planning for opt-outs.”

“Sooner or later someone’s going to have a headache, literal or metaphorical.” Bucky tugged him close and gave him a kiss. “It’s nice that they won’t _have_ to be banished to the other room.”

“Maybe watching the others will prove a cure for metaphorical headaches.”

Bucky pointed at her. “I like how you think, Carter. C’mere.”

She spread out the last comforter and crawled over it to join her boys in the center. Steve caught her around the waist and hefted her over so she was between them, earning him a surprised squeak. He kissed her and Bucky nuzzled the back of her neck and for a little while there was just a haze of hands and mouths while they all tried to kiss and touch each other at once.

One of them was tugging the fly of her jeans open when she took a steadying breath and lifted her head. “Hang on. Before we get too distracted, I have a present.”

“The bed wasn’t enough?” Steve mumbled. It was apparently his hand in her pants because his fingers moved in time with his words, pressing against the damp fabric of her panties. “It’s not even Christmas.”

“I know. But it’s almost the anniversary of us starting our arrangement.” She disentangled from them both and crawled towards the end of the bed. The one downside to this behemoth was that it was going to be that much harder to get out of bed in the mornings.

The boys watched her go to the dresser and dig in her drawer. She returned to the little nest they’d made with three black velvet boxes. After checking the insides briefly she handed one to each of them. “At the wedding last month it occurred to me that we’d never really be able to do that. Make a promise to each other in front of our friends and throw a big party celebrating it. Not all three of us. Bucky’s coworkers know and I think someday I might be able to tell my immediate family. Someday,” she reiterated when Steve looked a little panicked. “But it’s never going to be official. But that doesn’t make it any less legitimate or real. So I had these made. So we can have our own private, unofficial promise to each other.”

After her little speech there was a moment of silence, then Steve and Bucky opened their boxes in almost unison.

She’d gone to a private jeweler to design the rings. The boys’s were made of titanium, so they’d be a little heavier and more durable, while hers was platinum. She’d dithered for days on what to engrave on them and how fancy to make them. In the end she’d kept them very plain. Steve and Bucky’s had no embellishment, just a simply set stone in the center, a sapphire for Steve and a ruby for Bucky. Hers had understated engraving around the edges, with a clear white diamond set in the middle. They all had letters engraved inside, a J flanked by two Ses, like a monogram.

She waited while they both inspected their rings, taking them out of the boxes to look inside them and get a better look at the stones. “I know we both call you Bucky,” she offered eventually, not really sure what to make of their reactions. “But James _is_ your given name and I just thought. . .”

He cut her off with a kiss, which was immediately followed by one from Steve. “It’s perfect,” Bucky told her, sliding it on his right ring finger. “I wouldn’t have done anything different.”

Steve slipped his on as well - also on the right hand - then opened the box still in her lap and took out her ring, sliding it onto her hand. “This is a wonderful idea,” he told her. “You’re brilliant.”

She was oddly choked up, much as she might have been at her actual wedding. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I love you both very much. I don’t see that changing and wouldn’t want it to. Thank you for being in my life.”

Bucky caught her hand and kissed her palm just under the band of the ring, then reached out to take Steve’s hand as well. “I don’t think I deserve you. Either of you, let alone both. Together, you saved me. I can’t ever thank you for that.”

Eyes red, Steve took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. “There’s been a lot of times in my life - too many - that I thought I’d never really be happy. Never free to love Bucky the way I wanted. Never successfully rebuild the life I lost when I went in the ice. This - what the three of is share - this is so much more than I ever thought I’d have. I love you both more than anything in the world.”

There was no officiant. No white dress or flowers or photographer or guest list. But it was as close to vows as they’d ever really share. And it was enough. Just the three of them, in the home they’d made together. Maybe they’d never be able to tell anyone how they worked, how they loved. They would always need to fear misunderstanding. But right now all she cared about was their little family of three. And the love they had managed to find with each other.

She kissed Steve, then Bucky, then watched as they kissed each other. Then the three of them sank back down into their little nest and decided to celebrate their new bed and new bond properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for all your comments! I'm so thrilled with the reaction this got.
> 
> There is a sequel being written, but I have WAY too many WiPs right now, so no idea when it'll see the light of day.


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